The Fangirls
by NinjaBallerina
Summary: 35 girls. 2 best friends. 1 prince. 1 totally fangirl-worthy story. (Collab by lilythemermaid and AcademicGirl)
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! It's lilythemermaid and AcademicGirl here. We're so excited for you to read our new collab on this shared account, NinjaBallerina, and we hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoy writing it!**

**There are two POV's in this story. The first, Ruthie, is written by AcademicGirl, and Violet is written by lilythemermaid.**

**We've been working on this story for a while now, and we're so excited to finally share it with you! Let us know what you think in the reviews!**

**xoxo, Lily**

**Love ya!- AcademicGirl**

* * *

**Ruthie:**

Magic doesn't exist. Or at least it shouldn't.

Yet it does. In fictional novels, in fantasy literary works of art. It exists in our surroundings, in our lives. Coincidences and deja vus aren't opportune moments. That time you met your best friend? Call it fate, but I call it magic. Maybe magic isn't the way we picture it to be, like moving pictures you can jump into or sparks shooting out of a wand. But there certainly is magic in this world.

The library is a pretty magical place. The happiest place on Earth is the library, not Disney World. It's an alternate way to live. New people to meet and love. Although, real people aren't too shabby either. My best friend Violet is pretty much the person who keeps me sane. We both love to read, and reading isn't a hobby to us; it's a lifestyle. We go to the library everyday to return a book we read together, and today, we're returning _The Selection _by Kiera Cass (all three books; we had to get all three at once).

The trilogy is poignant, romantic...I don't quite know what made me pull it out of the bookshelf. The cover is exquisite, but the story itself...I can't quite explain how I feel. It lacked the big, sesquipedalian words I look forward to, but somehow I just cannot describe why I love the book so much.

I think it it's because the characters are so realistic (maybe not the names; America _Singer_?). That it's not fictional, or "magical". The love story definitely is something from a fairytale book, with two boys vying for one girl's heart. Especially when the prince is so absolutely lovable. If he would just be real, my entire life would be fulfilled knowing that Prince Maxon Schreave exists.

Violet and I enter the library, walking to the counter to return the books.

"I don't even want to return it," I whine, reluctantly giving the three books to the lady (short hair, beady eyes, average librarian who tells you to shut up).

She laughs. "You never want to return books."

"See, I don't want to return the book, but at the same time, I don't want to buy it." I read too quickly, and sometimes it's just a waste for me to buy something that I'll keep in mind for maybe a few weeks. But _The Selection…_

It's different. It's not a book quoted for its metaphors, or even its characters. I think I've wanted to kill America Singer more times than I've craved chocolate (and that's a lot of times).

Violet and I go to the YA fiction bookshelves, and inevitably, I see another copy of _The Selection. _

"Hey, Vi, should I borrow this again?" I ask, holding up the book so she sees the cover.

"If you don't, I will!" she replies. I laugh, and she points behind me. "Look at that."

Both of us are photographers, so we're both almost obligated to admire the beautiful painting of a yellow-walled structure. Lush gardens surround the building, and it looks so realistic that I swear the uniformed men around the perimeter are moving.

"It's really pretty," I mumble. There seems to be a tiny tear, a ripple on the surface, but it's probably my contact lenses acting up again. I blink a few times, and it adjusts itself.

And yet.

It still seems like its moving.

"Vi, come look at this," I say, beckoning her over. She puts down the book she has in her hands (_If I Stay _by Gayle Forman) and walks to me.

"Ruthie, there's nothing…" She squints at it, and I know that I'm not the only one seeing it.

Inadvertently, she and I touch the painting at the same time (we always do that kind of stuff; it's so cliche sometimes).

I'm expecting to feel the raised brush strokes on my fingertips, but instead I feel a rough wall. I blink again and suddenly there's sunlight. The confusion hits me like ice water, and I feel so blinded by the unanticipated light. I blink a few times and decide to retire my contact lenses (I've used these for a month anyway). I take them out and throw them to the ground. Maybe it's actually obstructing my vision rather than clarifying it. Now, everything is hazy, like someone dropped a veil of fog over the field of sunlight.

I still see Vi's brown hair, though, but not exactly her face. I take my glasses, which I always keep in my pocket for times like these, and put them on.

Violet is frowning. There's something horribly wrong, and panic and confusion are written all over her face.

"Ruthie," she says, pausing to rub her eyes. "Where are we?"

High, yellow stucco walls. A circle driveway surrounding a fountain. Guards everywhere.

There is no way in hell this is the library anymore.

I look at my right hand, the knuckles white from clenching the hardbound novel so tightly. The spine glistens in the rays of light, and I can't think of anything else to say.

It somewhat makes sense in my head, now that I know I'm holding _The Selection, _but still.

This isn't real. It's a dream.

"Ruthie," Violet says again, more impatient this time.

"Vi," I say, swallowing. "I think we're in the book."

* * *

**Violet**

I, Violet Simons, am quite notorious for daydreaming. In the middle of history class, during the middle of a conversation, pretty much anytime, anyplace. I can't help my mind from drifting off to someplace more interesting than where I actually am. (I can't tell you the number of times I've daydreamed about Maxon Schreave. Sigh.)

But I can always snap out of it.

I stare at the huge palace in front of me, and will myself to make it vanish. I squeeze my eyes shut, and open them again. Nothing. I pinch my arm, but the palace stands in front of me, unmoving.

"This isn't happening," I whisper to myself, forgetting that Ruthie can still hear me. "We can't be-"

"Standing in front of the Illéan palace?" she finishes. I glance at Ruthie, and her look of disbelief mirrors mine.

"What are you two doing out here?" an unfamiliar voice suddenly joins our conversation. I turn around quickly, my dark brown hair whirling around my face. I impatiently push it out of my eyes and stare at a guard who can't be any older than I am.

"This has got to be some kind of crazy cosplay," I mutter to Ruthie. The guard's uniform has an official Illéan emblem on it. She snickers behind her hand.

"Excuse me?" The guard raises an eyebrow.

"Nothing," I reply quickly. "We're just, uh, wondering…"

"How to get to the closest town or city," Ruthie quips. "We're lost."

The guard's eyes narrow. "You don't know where you are?"

"Well, we have a guess…" I give him an apologetic smile. He rolls his eyes.

"Downtown Angeles is about a half an hour walk from the palace." I glance at Ruthie. _Angeles_. Well, I guess that confirms it. This isn't a dream. We're actually in the world of The Selection.

"Thanks," I mutter. The guard gives us one last glare before returning to his stiff position, his eyes fixed on the palace in front of him.

I turn to Ruthie, who's still gawking at the huge palace grounds laid out before us. I grab her arm and pull her down the pathway that the guard pointed us in.

When we finally are out of earshot of the surrounding guards, Ruthie turns to me and we stop. We take one look at each other, and burst out into laughter.

"This is crazy," I gasp out.

"Completely," she agrees. "What now?"

I take a second to think about it. Sure, the most logical thing to do would be to figure out how we got her, and how to get back home. But I just landed in the world of The Selection with my best friend. There is no way I'm going to waste this opportunity.

"Well, downtown Angeles is only a half an hour walk from here," I remind her with a grin.

A half an hour later, Ruthie and I finally reach a city-like landscape. I'm starting to get sweaty from the Angeles heat, and desperate to find some AC somewhere.

"Ruthie, where do you think we could -"

"Vi."

"Find some water, or maybe some air-conditioning, I'm literally about to pass out from the-"

"_Vi. _Do you see that?" She's pointing at a giant billboard, and I suddenly freeze in the middle of my sentence, walking a few steps towards the advertisement.

The billboard's plain and simple, with only the words _The Selection_ written in curling, fancy lettering. Underneath there's a description of how to enter, but the only thing I notice is Maxon Schreave's name printed on the bottom.

I look over my shoulder back at Ruthie, and we share a mischievous, knowing look.

We are _so _finding a way to enter the Selection.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi again!**

**Thank you all so much for reading our story! The reviews are so amazing. We can't believe we got...14 already? That's crazy, especially for our first chapter. You guys are the best.**

**We're already working on the next chapter, so we hope you guys stick around! There'll be more fun stuff coming up when we meet Maxon ;)**

**Love ya!- AcademicGirl**

**xoxo, Lily**

* * *

**Violet**

Ruthie and I share a glance, and we grin at each other.

"You're thinking what I'm thinking, right?" I smirk.

"Of course I am. We're telepathic, remember?" Ruthie's smile spreads across her face, and we both laugh. Sometimes we joke that we share a telepathic bond, because we so often share the exact same thoughts.

"Okay, so what's our plan?" I ask while wrestling my mess of dark brown hair into a ponytail. It's summer in Angeles, and having hair down to the middle of my back isn't exactly helping in the heat.

"Well, we're going to have to find an application somewhere," Ruthie points out. I nod.

"But we don't live here. The letters are sent to your house, right?"

"Yeah… We could try to find one sent to someone else," she suggests. Although I don't like the idea of stealing someone else's application, there's not really any other option at this point.

"It's worth a try," I agree. Ruthie looks up at me, and the difference in our heights is almost amusing. Ruthie is only 5 feet tall, while I'm more than a head taller than her at 5'9''. She's the perfect height for me to use as an armrest.

We wander through downtown Angeles, and we start to see actual citizens of Illéa. I spot a group of girls who appear to be Twos. The skintight clothes, expertly done makeup, and snotty glares tell them apart from the Threes and Fours walking down the street.

It's so strange to be experiencing this world of castes that Kiera Cass created. The paint splatters on one woman's overalls immediately distinguishes her as a Five. A man with wire framed glasses reading a book in a coffee shop is easily recognized as a Three. I glance down at myself, and then at Ruthie. Where would we fit in?

We continue our journey through Angeles, and finally we come across a residential looking street, with huge, beautiful houses lining the sidewalks. If there was any place to find an application for the Selection, it would be here.

I look sideways at Ruthie. The thought of stealing an application from another girl, someone who probably wants to get into the Selection as badly as we do, sounds wrong.

"I don't know about this, Vi," Ruthie's voice is unsteady. I think for a minute, and then realize something.

"Wait. Elise Whisks is from Angeles," I remind her. "So if we take an application from someone else, they wouldn't have gotten in anyways."

"True," she agrees, her mood brightening. "We should at least try."

We split up, and take opposite sides of the road. I pull open mailbox after mailbox, but every single one is empty. Across the street, I can tell Ruthie's not having any luck, either. I'm about to suggest we find a new plan, when one mailbox sticks out at me. It's simple, with plain white paint and black, sophisticated lettering. _Ferrars_. The box is slightly ajar, and as I open it, I can see a large, creamy envelope addressed to a girl named Juliette. I glance around the street, grab the envelope, and run my hands over the beautiful handwriting.

"Violet?" Ruthie calls from across the street, noticing that I've stopped. I look up, and wave her over, still holding the envelope like it's a fragile object that might break at any moment.

"Look, Ruthie." Her eyes widen when she realizes what it is.

"That's not…?"

"An application? Yeah, it is." I hand her the envelope, and she gulps. "I'm pretty sure this is the only girl who hasn't turned it in yet. Every other mailbox was completely empty." I feel a knot of anxiety forming in my stomach. "I'm not sure why, but I have a feeling we're not going to be able to find another one."

Ruthie's face falls, and she hands me the envelope back. "You take it. You found it."

I look at my best friend. Of course I want this application, but I don't want to do this without Ruthie. I remember all of the times Ruthie and I have been there for each other, told each other things that we've never shared with anyone else. I can't take the application.

"No, you have it." Her eyes fill with surprise.

"What?"

I shrug. "We'll find another one. Come on, just because I found it doesn't mean it's mine. Seriously, I can't do it unless I know I can have you by my side."

"Vi…" She bites her lip.

"Ruthieee…" I mimic her hesitant voice. "Anyways, consider this me paying you back for that time I lost your signed copy of The Fault in Our Stars."

She gives me a slight grin. "Yeah, I'm still not over that."

"I bought you a new one!"

She sighs, and opens the application. I feet a tug in my chest at the sight, because I can't deny that I want to be opening that application myself. What if Ruthie gets chosen and I don't? I wipe that thought out of my mind. No, we are going to find a way.

"Fine, I'll do it. But there's no way I'm going if you don't get in. We're finding you another application. Deal?"

I smile. "Deal."

* * *

**Ruthie**

Finding an empty application proves to be harder that I first thought. I guess it's expected when we're in Angeles, the prince's own province. I fill out the application quickly so we can find another one for Violet. There is no way in hell that I'm going alone. Especially when everyone in the Selection would be older than I am. I'm only fifteen; I don't think I could handle being the youngest in a hardcore competition.

I mentally sigh. I already stole an application (technically Violet stole it for me), and now I'll have to lie. The things I do for Maxon Schreave.

_Full name:_ Ruthie Bernadette Castillo

_Age_: Sixteen years old

_Province_: Angeles

_Caste_:

I look to Violet. "What castes would we be?"

She smirks at me. "I feel like you'd be a Three, you smarty pants."

I have to laugh at that. Sometimes I can be smart, and sometimes I'm just so stupid. "Why, thank you," I say.

She smiles, and I continue filling out the application.

_Caste:_ Three

_Occupation:_ Student and tutor

I feel like the last part is somewhat a lie, but technically speaking, I tutor my friends with their homework. It counts for something, right? I just want a sure spot in the Selection. I won't allow Elise Whisks to get that spot.

_Talents_: I can play five instruments—piano, violin, guitar, ukulele, and vocals. I also teach myself popular songs from the early twenty-first century. I am fluent in two languages—English and Tagalog, a dialect in New Asia—and I have had ten years of Spanish classes. Aside from that, I am also teaching myself Italian, German, and French.

Again, somewhat of a lie, since I'm learning these three languages through an app, but it's not like I can say, "Hey, I use an app on my iPhone."

_Hobbies_: I play and listen to music. In addition, I like photography, writing stories, and reading.

_Achievements_:

Okay, this might be the thing that will get me in the competition.

_Achivements_: I received an academic scholarship to my current high school, as well as scholarship offers to two other high schools. I was valedictorian of my elementary school. I was in the academic math team. I was the lead in my eighth grade musical.

Okay, the last one is lame, I'll admit. But I want to put every little, tiny, extraneous detail that will overshadow another New Asian who has as much of a shot as I do.

_Parents_:

I look up again at Violet (why does she get to be so damn tall?), and she says, "What's the problem now?"

"Parents," I simply say, still horrified.

She frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Who'll sign our legal documents?" I'm starting to panic now. I've been dependent on my parents for so long, and only two years ago did I stop. What do I do now?

"We need to sign legal documents?"

I almost laugh. "Yeah, Vi. At least, I think we do."

Violet shrugs. "Just say we're orphans."

"But then wouldn't we be Eights?"

She taps her chin, trying to think of another way to make this work. "Our parents died last week in an unfortunate car crash, and we are currently living with each other. Our parents have no siblings or close friends, so no possible legal guardians."

I blink at her. "You're such a genius it's horrifying."

I fill out the rest of the application with no problem whatsoever.

"Awesome," I say, neatly folding up the application. "We have to find the Angeles Services Office now, right?"

Violet nods. "Yep. Downtown Angeles isn't too far from here. Besides, we could just annoy another palace guard."

We laugh and start our trek to the the Office. My head runs wild and my heart pounds at this uncanny experience. We're in the world of _The Selection. _How is this even possible?

I mean, Violet and I are going to sneak in the Selection to meet Maxon Schreave. Oh, my goodness, we could meet Prince Maxon. I could finally meet him. _We _could finally meet him.

But my paranoia nags at me. What if one of us gets chosen but not the other? Maybe one of us could sneak in as a maid? Well, I'm pretty sure Violet would beat another girl chosen. I try to remember the entire list of people chosen for the Selection. If I turn in my application as a candidate from Illéa and I'm chosen, that would mean Elise Whisks would be completely out of the picture. I'd take her place as the New Asian. Yes, this sounds like it actually might work.

Now, about Violet…

Angeles is a big province, but not big enough to find another unfilled application.

I sigh and turn to my best friend, so unsatisfied with myself that I won't be able to do this easily. "Vi, we may have to do something else to get you in."

She tilts her head in confusion, and I explain further. "We could drive to the next province over and find an application there."

Violet nods. "The next province over is...Zuni?"

"Yeah, and that's where Olivia Witts is from. We could just, you know, trick her or something into giving us her application. I mean, she didn't sound all too intelligent in the book."

"True," Violet replies. "One problem: where do we get a car?"

I frown. "Huh. Um, we already kind of stole an application, and I don't think I can handle stealing a car."

"Yeah, I was thinking about that."

It's funny how people so close to each other start to think the same way.

"We could walk," Violet suggests, and I make a face.

"Ew, exercise." She laughs at me, and I grin despite the blistering summer sun and the sweat pooling at the back of my neck. "It's too hot."

"Yeah, maybe we could find a store for new clothes?" she helpfully suggests.

"Definitely. When we left the east coast, it wasn't this hot," I whine.

Violet jokingly rolls her eyes. "Duh, it was fall when we left."

"Yeah, the sweatpants I'm wearing make me want to jump in the palace fountain."

She laughs at me. "That's great, Ruthie," she says, taking off her sweater and revealing her floral top. "That would be a sight for the guards."

I snicker. "Cute shirt, by the way."

"Thanks. I got it from Urban Outfitters."

We reach the Angeles Services Office, and I frown, squinting at the sun. "Crap, Vi. I'm wearing sweatpants and a sweaty top. We need our pictures taken."

She waves it aside. "You'll be fine, Ruthie. It's just a head shot. Besides it's a cute top. I like the lace."

"Will King Clarkson like the lace?" I ask, panicked.

Violet rolls her eyes. "He doesn't like anything. Just go with it."

"Why did I have to be so weird?" I complain. "Why couldn't I just be like you and wear a cute top and jeans, instead of a cute top and sweatpants?"

"Because you're unique."

I wrinkle my nose. "Is that a compliment?"

"Yes. Ruthie, we have to fix your hair a little," she says.

"Should we just wait to turn it in tomorrow?" I ask, taking out my hair tie and the blue scrunchie around it. "I mean, I'm kind of a mess."

Violet shakes her head decidedly, asking me to turn around before we reach the front of the line. "Elise could have it turned in before you if we wait."

I nod, and Violet starts to braid my shoulder-length black hair along the side of my head (I hate my hair sometimes; it's black, and dark things attract heat, so my feels like a freaking frying pan).

"Sorry my hair's so sweaty," I say apologetically.

Violet just laughs. "How's that?" she asks.

My response is cut off by the crabby official asking for my application. I shoot an exasperated glance at Violet, and she hides a laugh behind her hand. I walk to the backdrop for the picture and try to smile happily. I remember that part in the story where America said she looked like the happiest girl in the world. Maybe I'd get the same chances?

"Next!" the photographer yells.

I stutter, "I-I wasn't ready!"

"I said next, kid."

I scowl behind his back, and Violet pats my shoulder. "That was good. You looked great."

I roll my eyes. "Shut up, Vi. You're, like, photogenic. You're not allowed to say that."

She scoffs. "Uh, no."

It's like this between us. We compliment each other and downplay ourselves. In truth, I'm in awe of her. She's actually my best friend, and I couldn't be happier. "Okay, okay. So, next on the agenda. Buy new clothes?"

"I guess so. Where's the next Urban Outfitters here?"

A laugh shoots out of me. "Can we find an Aeropostale somewhere? Vi, why didn't we pack a suitcase to the library?"

She laughs at that. "Yeah, we should've packed a refrigerator, or at least a cooler. I'm starving."

"So clothes or food?"

"Clothes, then food, then find a car."

I raise an eyebrow. "Do they even have car rentals here?"

She shrugs. "One way to find out."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, guys! Thanks for reading our last chapter!**

**Thank you guys for the reviews, but we need to address one in particular. It said that our characters were too similar, and there is an easy explanation for that. Our characters in this story are completely based off our real personalities. The only difference between us is our height and appearance, which are the same in this story, too. All of our likes, dislikes, and accomplishments are the same as in real life, as well. The characters in this story are completely and wholly us, and despite the fact we have never met, we really do think the same way.**

**Anyways, we hope you like this chapter :)**

**Love ya! -AcademicGirl**

**xoxo, Lily**

* * *

**Ruthie:**

We find a strip mall from the help of a hotel concierge (parted hair, dark, beady, calculating eyes that say, "Why is my job so crappy?". The hotel wasn't too far from the Services Office, and apparently there's a car rental there. Killing two birds with one stone.

Luckily, Violet is a legal driver, albeit not a very good one. It's not exactly "safe" but it's not "dangerous" either. She kind of reminds me of a certain character, but that's a different story.

We reach the strip mall after about fifteen minutes of walking. I pull out my phone, impulsively wanting to check the time, and Violet rushes to cover the device with her hands.

"Ruthie!" she cries. "We could get caught!"

"Vi…" I start to say, but through the space between her fingers, I can see that I have all five bars of service. "How is that even possible," I mumble.

"What?"

I slowly pry her hands from my phone. "I have service here? In Illéa?"

She frowns, pulling out her own phone. "Oh, my God, that's so weird."

I just laugh. "I can't believe we're in Illéa, and we're saying how weird having phone service is."

She cracks a smile, but it fades as a realization dawns on her. She slides her phone screen, unlocking it, and does several taps.

"Vi, what are you doing?"

Violet shows me her screen. "We show up in the map. It says we're in California."

Laughing, I say, "That is so bizarre."

We put our phones away because we have some shopping to do.

An hour and a half later, we're in a small, silver compact car, both wearing different clothes and the trunk filled with shopping bags and duffel bags. I'm wearing a blue top with capped sleeves and white shorts. Violet is wearing a cute top with ruffles and shorts. I think we could pass off as Threes.

Somewhere along the ride, I fall asleep. When I wake up, the window is cool against my face and the sky is dark.

"Ruthie, you awake?" Vi says, turning off the engine.

I mumble a yes and stretch. "Where are we?"

"In Zuni, and I found Olivia."

I frown at her. "You already found her?"

She smirks. "Her plate number literally said Olivia."

I laugh weakly; I'm still groggy from my nap. I'm concerned about Violet now. She must be exhausted. We've driven all the way from Angeles to another province. "Vi, you okay? Like, I'm sure I could take over driving. I've been trying to learn."

Violet laughs and waves it aside. "I'm fine. I'm glad you were able to sleep."

It does little to console me, but she changes the topic quickly. "We're at Olivia's house, and that's her taking the garbage out."

Olivia's brown hair is swept up in a messy bun. "That's her?"

Violet nods. "How are we getting her application, Ruthie?"

"We could trick her, or outsmart her," I say. She hesitates, but I'm already exiting the car.

"Ruthie, wait!"

I march up to Olivia, crossing my arms and regretting putting away my sweatpants. "Hi," I say brightly. The girl's brown eyes turn to me. "Are you Olivia?"

She looks down at me, as does everyone in this world. "Yes?"

"Cool. I'm Tess," I blurt, saying the first name at the top of my head. "We met a few days ago. Do you remember?"

She shakes her head. "It would be hard to forget you," she says bluntly, putting the garbage in the dumpster. "It's almost after curfew. Why are you still out?"

"We made a deal, remember?" I say. "You said you would give me your Selection application so you could date my hot brother."

She frowns. "I never said that."

"Ah, but you just don't remember." I smile, and I'm lying through my teeth. I absolutely hate lying, but if it means getting my best friend in the Selection, I will do anything (maybe not anything, but close to anything).

Then Olivia's eyes widen. "Wait, is your brother Steven?"

Um… "Yep, Steven's my brother."

She sighs. "He's dreamy. But he's not the prince."

I raise an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me? We're the prince and princess of Welchington."

_Welchington? What the hell is that?_

Thankfully, Olivia squeals more. "Welchington? I don't even know what it is, but I want your brother's phone number."

I smile coolly. "I need your application first."

Olivia nods quickly and rushes inside her house. I turn around and Violet's making some kind of face at me. I just snap my fingers into a thumbs up, and Olivia returns, the thick, smooth envelope in hand. "Here it is. What's your brother's number?"

I take the application and say, "one-two-three-six-five-nine-oh."

She smiles. "Thank you!" Then she curtsies. "Your Majesty."

I laugh. "Nooo problem. I'm sure Steven will enjoy your company." _If he existed._

Violet's gaping at me. "What did you do, Ruthie?"

I quickly tell her the story, and she blinks. "Can I see it?"

I place the application in her outstretched hand, and her eyes contain all the happiness in the world.

* * *

**Violet:**

"Welchington?" I gasp, doubled over in laughter as Ruthie recounts what happened with Olivia. "What the hell is Welchington?"

"Anything to get you in the Selection," Ruthie laughs, and I'm so grateful to have someone like her as my best friend.

"I can't believe you did this, Ruthie," I breathe out as I clutch the application in my hands. I know how much she hates lying. "Thank you so much."

"It's not like I was going to enter by myself." She rolls her eyes. "We're in this together. Now open it!"

I turn over the envelope, and to my shock it's already been ripped open. Frantically, I pull the application out and spread out the papers.

_Full name:_ Olivia Witts

"Crap," I mutter to Ruthie. "She already filled in her name."

Ruthie leans over across the console and looks at the offending name on the paper.

Olivia wrote in pen, so there's no way I can undo it without looking like a mess. Practically everyone else has already turned in their applications, and there's no way of finding another one. That leaves me with only one option.

I have to pretend to be Olivia Witts.

Ruthie, getting concerned at my growing panic, pats my shoulder encouragingly. "Don't worry, Vi. It's just your name, not your personality."

I nod. It's not the worst thing that could've happened, but I still wish I didn't have to pretend to be someone I'm not.

I continue filling in the rest of the form which, thankfully, Olivia left blank.

_Age:_ Seventeen years old

_Province: _Zuni

_Caste:_ Three

Thankfully, I've reread the Selection so many times that I can remember almost every detail of every character, including castes. I don't know whether to be concerned about that fact, or proud.

_Occupation:_

I'm about to write "dancer", but I realize that Olivia would have to be a Five to be a dancer. I sigh.

_Occupation:_ Student

_Talents:_ I dance six days a week - mostly ballet and contemporary, but also jazz, musical theatre, and many other styles. I speak two languages, English and French.

"Do you think being able to read a whole Selection book in one night counts as a talent?" I ask Ruthie, twirling my pen in my hand, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, definitely," she agrees with a laugh. "And so does being a dedicated fangirl."

"I should have put that as my occupation!"

_Hobbies: _I love photography, writing, reading, and dancing. I also enjoy volunteering at local animal shelters.

_Achievements:_

I hesitate. I remember watching Ruthie fill out her application, and the long list of accomplishments scrawl across the page. We're both really smart. I mean, my whole school schedule is full of honors and AP classes. But Ruthie… She's just a whole different level of smart. It's not that I'm not successful, we're just successful in different ways.

I shake my head, trying to clear my mind, and press the pen back to paper.

_Achievements:_ I won first place in a local photography contest, and my photography has been exhibited in galleries and art shows. I've performed multiple solos in my dance studio's shows. My writing has been published in local and school newspapers. I'm a straight A student.

I finish the application, and fold it back into the envelope. Peering at the clock displayed in the car, I rub my eyes and blink.

"We should probably find somewhere to stay," I tell Ruthie. "I can turn in the application tomorrow."

"Alright. Want me to drive?" she offers eagerly. I give her a look.

"My driving is _not_ that bad." She crosses her arms.

"Tell that to the squirrel you almost ran over back in Angeles." I shove her over in her seat, laughing.

"That squirrel was totally reckless and suicidal, and you know it," I declare, while attempting to pull out of the driveway, accidentally knocking over a trash can.

"So was that trash can," Ruthie says with a serious expression, and despite my indignation, I have to laugh. I turn up the music, and roll down the windows. The warm Angeles breeze whips my hair back, and I relax as we drive down the long, empty streets. I might not be the best driver, but I love the way it feels. When I first got my license (after failing two tests, no less), I loved imagining that I could go anywhere I wanted. Illéa, however, is further than I ever thought I would be able to go.

I find a motel close to town, and Ruthie and I drag ourselves inside. Thankfully, I brought my debit card with me, so I can pay for whatever Ruthie and I need for at least a couple weeks. We immediately crash onto the beds, and my eyes close as soon as I hit the pillow.

When I wake, Ruthie's still asleep, and sunlight is filtering in through the windows, catching on the particles of dust floating in the air. I blink at the bright light, and fight the urge to curl back into the covers and sleep. I'm surprised I'm awake before Ruthie. Usually, I can sleep until 2 P.M. if no one wakes me. I roll over and fumble around for my glasses on the side table. My vision is absolutely terrible, and I usually wear contacts during the day.

Noticing the application sitting on the table beside me gives me enough motivation to push myself into a sitting position. I groggily rub my eyes and nudge Ruthie from across the bed. She yawns gives me a sleepy smile just like she does every time she wakes up, which I've never understood. Whereas whoever wakes _me_ up in the morning usually gets a face full of pillow and a grumpy, half asleep scowl, Ruthie's like a ray of sunshine, and always wakes up with a huge smile. I need a piping hot cup of tea and some granola before smiling is even an option for me.

"Morning," she chirps brightly, bouncing out of bed and over to the bathroom. I try not to fall back against the pillows again.

"Morning," I mumble back. Ruthie pops her head out of the bathroom door, giving me a smirk.

"Get enough sleep?" I glare at her. She knows how much I hate mornings.

"Not nearly," I yawn, stretching my arms above my head. She laughs, and I roll out of bed and wait for Ruthie to be finished in the bathroom. When I walk in, I nearly jump at my reflection. My hair is a wild mess, brown waves flying in every direction. It's no surprise, though; no matter what, my hair is always a disaster in the morning.

Luckily, I have experience dealing with the beast that is my hair. I run a brush through it, calming the tangles. I braid two small sections near the front of my face, and criss cross them over my head. When I'm finished, the two small braids look like a headband running across the top of my head. Even though my hair is still kind of messy, it looks intentional. Satisfied, I change into a comfy flowered dress that I bought back in Angeles with Ruthie. I contemplate putting on makeup, but settle for smudging the smallest bit of eyeliner along my lash line, making my brown eyes look bigger.

I emerge from the bathroom, snatching up the application and grabbing the small duffle bag of things Ruthie and I have bought.

"I think it's time I entered this Selection thing," I announce to Ruthie, slinging the bag over my shoulder.

"Definitely," she agrees, and we head back to our little car that I've grown to love. Ruthie reads me directions, and within twenty minutes, we've found our way to the Zuni Services Offices.

"How do I look?" I ask my best friend nervously. I clench my fists to control their shaking, a nervous habit that I wish didn't exist.

Ruthie eyes me. "Vi, you look perfect. You're freaking out over nothing."

"Sure," I say, rolling my eyes.

I hide the papers behind my back. My hands are still shaking.

Finally, I can hand over my application to the official, and stand in line to get my photo taken. I note every girl that stands in line. I wonder if I should've put more makeup on, or spent more time on my hair. I touch the messy braid crowning the top of my head, feeling sick to my stomach.

_Stop it, Violet,_ I mentally scold myself. I come across as perfectly put together, and I hate having moments of insecurity and self doubt like these.

The photographer calls me up next, and I take a deep breath. The photography geek in me notes the camera he's using. I've never heard of the brand, but the model looks just like the Canon I have at home. I wish I had it with me here, so I could capture every moment of this strange experience.

I step in front of the camera, which is a little strange for me, since I'm usually always the one _behind_ the lens.

_Natural. Be natural_, I tell myself. I smile at the camera, trying to think of everything that makes me happy. Long car drives down deserted highways, wind blowing through my hair. Dancing around with my little sister, Isabelle, in our living room. Ruthie and I, giggling over a book and fangirling about fictional boys.

The picture is snapped, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I meet back up with Ruthie, and we exit the Services Office.

We've made it this far. Now all we have to do is wait.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey again! Thanks for keeping up with us, and thanks for the reviews/favorites/follows! We could not be happier with how this story is turning out, as well as its feedback.**

**This chapter, we have a contest for you guys! If you win, you get a character in this story (not telling what it will be!) named after you. All you have to do to enter is answer this question in the reviews:**

**What would you do if you met Maxon Schreave?**

**Whoever reviews the most creative answer wins. Good luck!**

**PS. Just a reminder, we don't own any of The Selection trilogy. All rights go to the amazing Kiera Cass!**

**xoxo, Lily**

**Love ya!- AcademicGirl**

* * *

**Ruthie:**

It's precisely seven forty-nine. It's raining heavily outside, and I look forward to the petrichor tomorrow morning. Maybe the storm is an ominous and threatening sign.

_We're not going to make it into the Selection, _I chide myself. It's never going to happen. We'll leave this story without having met Maxon Schreave. What a tragedy. Almost worse than that time I got a B on my essay.

Violet sinks into the lumpy couch. The springs dig uncomfortably in my back, and I squirm a bit while she hands me the small bowl of popcorn. She extends her long legs on the couch until it's sprawled over my lap. I make my weak attempt to push them off, but the limbs are determined to stay on my thighs. Great.

"The Selection candidates are being announced tonight," I say blandly, as if this whole ordeal is totally anticlimactic.

"Ruthie, how could you even say that so calmly?" she cries, and I laugh when she still has a kernel a centimeter away from her lips as she gapes at me in shock.

"I was trying to...diffuse the nerves."

She rolls her eyes. "Please, there will never be enough words that will diffuse the nerves. I'm actually expecting you to start screaming anytime now."

I laugh because she's right. My stomach shudders every time anticipation happens. I'm so excited and so nervous. We're not going to get picked. We're not. But at the same time we could. Violet's application is really impressive. She'd get picked for sure. I, on the other hand, have nothing going on for me. The academic team? Really? They'd think I was such an academic girl; school must be the only thing on my mind. I'm sure they want someone with connections, friends, an actual social life. I literally share a Twitter with my best friend.

Violet incessantly shakes my shoulder. "Ruthie, Ruthie, it's starting!"

I can't hold back my squeals as I bounce up and down in my seat, Violet's legs bouncing with me.

A man walks in view of the camera, and I can't hold back my breaths, quick and interminable. I need my inhaler. So bad. I'm going to die because of hyperventilation.

"Whoa, Ruthie, calm down," Violet says, shaking my shoulder again.

I smile and laugh, because it's what I love doing best. "I'll go wash my hands from popcorn grease," I say, still acting as if I'm bored.

I run to the small kitchen and wash my hands there, still able to see the TV. An older man with a gleaming smile walks onstage next, and I realize this is Gavril Fadaye. I sprint to the couch and jump on it, the poor cushions creaking beneath my weight.

I try to focus on his words, and as I do that, try to connect everything I've heard from the book. It's verbatim. I can't believe we're watching this, and I imagine America Singer somewhere in the opposite side of the country, watching this as well.

Then the camera points to King Clarkson. I didn't quite know what I was expecting. Maybe someone like the king from a Disney movie only crueller? I certainly didn't expect a handsome man. I think him handsome like I think Brad Pitt handsome. It's in that older man kind of way, but it's still so horrifying to see someone who looks at least nice, if not a bit intimidating, and know they torture others for the sake of getting ahead.

He's going to die, and it's so weird to see someone human and know when and where and how they will die.

The camera pans to Queen Amberly next, and Violet and I share a look. She's absolutely breathtaking, like a sunset or a yellow leaf amidst red and orange. The queen's kind eyes crinkle a bit the edge, and I find myself reaching for my phone in my pocket and taking a picture of the small TV.

I realize my hand is getting sweaty in Violet's, and I wonder if she finds it disgusting or uncomfortable. However, she makes no motion to let go. It strikes me that she is only as nervous as I am, if not a bit more. Violet and I share that special quality where we have an anxiety attack over the smallest things. It almost draws us closer.

I look at her now, her brown eyes behind her Versace glasses intently clinging to the screen, and think how lucky I am to have a girl who is my personality twin.

"Ruthie!" she screams, her hand tightening on mine.

My eyes return to the bright screen in the dark, and the sight I find is better than any sunset I've ever seen.

Maxon Screave is smiling. He is talking. He is real.

I grip onto his every word like I am to Violet's hand, and we can't help the little giggles and squeals that escape us.

"He's so hot," I swoon.

Vi remains speechless, clutching me for dear life, and I jokingly put an arm around her. "It's okay, honey, it'll be over soon."

She shakes her head. "I don't want it to be over."

Frankly, I feel the exact same way. This cannot end. This fantasy world has to keep going. And I want to live in it. Worlds are preserved in pages and words and sentences, but truly the worlds remain eternal through us. I want to preserve this moment forever. I want to take a picture of Maxon Schreave, smiling and laughing so adorably and nervously, with my mind, but alas, my memory fucking sucks.

Violet jars me from my thoughts when she screams into the lumpy couch. I pay attention to every minute detail of Maxon Schreave. His eyes are brown, just like melted chocolate, but there are tinges of a darker shade. If I could draw, I'd draw him right now and make him eternal on my page. His hair is blond, but not just a flat color. It has undertones of brown and it slightly curls near the tips of his ears and the nape of his neck. His smile is illuminating, like a light has been switched on inside of him. He looks at ease, but his voice is anything but. It shakes the slightest bit, and it's so weird to physically see him so edgy.

Finally, Gavril pulls out his cards for the girls. I take both of Violet's hands, and our heads are close together, as if we could heighten the experience if we stay glued.

The little box containing Maxon's reaction is the one I look at the entire time. I don't think I'm even listening to the names anymore. He's smiling, but his eyes look like they're just staring, like he's not paying attention. He's so beautiful. It's odd to describe a guy as beautiful, but he is. Oh, he certainly is.

"Olivia Witts from Zuni."

At first, there is no reaction. We don't know an Olivia.

Then I smack my forehead as Violet starts to squeal.

"Vi, you did it!" I say, embracing her.

"If you didn't trick Olivia in the first place, I never would have gotten a spot," she says gratefully.

I smile and continue to watch, knowing that there is no possibility that both of us could be chosen. This may be a utopia, but it doesn't belong to me. It belongs to people like Violet. I'm just here as a bystander. Maybe I could sneak in as her maid. The palace would definitely need extra service.

"Ruthie!" Violet says, shaking _both _my shoulders now. "They just called your name!"

I look at the screen, and my face fades out of view. Oh, my God. I'm upset that I didn't get to see Maxon's reaction.

But Violet yanks me up and we're standing and laughing and squealing and and jumping up and down like we've won the lottery. I guess in a way we did.

My phone buzzes in my pocket while Violet's rings. We answer person after person, and the calls remain infinite.

* * *

**Violet:**

"Violet, come _on_," Ruthie groans, smacking a pillow over my head.

"Mmm," I respond, pulling the blankets over my head.

"The officials are going to be here any minute!" Her voice is full of exasperation. I open one eye. Ruthie's already dressed, looking completely put together in a lacey top and shorts.

"What time is it?"

"Eleven!"

"Oh."

She rolls her eyes at me. "You realize you're going to have to wake up earlier at the palace, don't you?"

I roll out of bed and walk into the bathroom. "Yeah, but at the palace, I'll have motivation to get up and see a certain prince," I call, raising my eyebrows suggestively. She just shakes her head as I speed through my morning routine, throwing on an embroidered tank top and tucking it into a blue skirt.

"See? Done," I say triumphantly to Ruthie as I sit down at our little kitchen table and pour myself a glass of orange juice.

"Good, because I'm pretty sure they're right outside."

I choke a little on my juice. "They're-"

I'm cut off by the dinging of the doorbell. We look at each other for a second, and dash to the door. Last night, when we were answering phone call after phone call, Ruthie let the officials know that she was staying at the motel with me. The story we decided on is that we're family friends, and last week our parents got into a car crash. We've been staying together since, and neither of us have any other legal guardians. We worked it out so the officials could go over the rules with us together, and then Ruthie would be taken back to Angeles for the send-off.

I wasn't going to lie, I was a little nervous to be split up. If someone tried to dig too deep into our past, it would be a little hard to explain how two girls from America ended up in Illéa, a fictional country. And on top of all that, I still didn't know how Olivia was reacting to all of this.

"Good morning, Ladies!" A tall, skinny woman strides into the motel, her clear gray eyes scanning our surroundings behind cat-eye glasses. Her hair is swept up into a precise twist, not a strand out of place. She passes Ruthie and I, and we share a look as she makes her way into the tiny kitchen without a backwards glance.

I start a pot of tea, and Ruthie and I sit down across the table from the official, whose judgemental eyes keep observing our tiny accommodations. She shuffles around papers and folders, arranging forms.

For the past week, our little motel apartment has been bustling with guests. There was a palace guard sent to go over security measures with us. I had almost forgotten about the rebels in the excitement of everything else, and realized that Ruthie and I would be facing rebel attacks at the palace. Throughout the week, we'd also had our measurements taken for our new wardrobe, which was the most exciting visit for me. I can't help but hope that my maids are as lovely as America's were in the book.

"Miss Witts and Miss Castillo, so nice to meet you." The lady throws smiles at the two of us, a fake sympathetic expression gracing her face. "I was informed that you two are living together, and there are no legal guardians?"

"That's correct," I reply, lying through my teeth.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," she says, that sympathetic expression still on her face.

"Thank you," Ruthie and I reply together. "We have each other, so we're doing all right."

"I'm glad to hear that," she continues. "I'm here to go over some rules with you two before the competition. This may sound harsh, but you two are now considered property of Illéa. You are required to take care of your body from here on out. I have some forms that you will have to sign, and any failure to comply on your part will result in your immediate removal from the Selection. Understood?"*

We nod. We've heard this all before in the book.

"Great. First off, you will need to start taking these vitamins. It is essential that you take one every day. Are there any medical problems I need to be aware of?"

Ruthie speaks up. "I have asthma."

The lady scribbles something in her notebook, and looks at me expectantly. "Healthy as a horse."

"Good. Moving on. Now, I understand that this is personal, but it's protocol that I discuss it with every contestant." Ruthie and I glance at each other knowing what's coming. "I need to confirm that you are both, in fact, virgins."

I cough to hide my laughter, and Ruthie's cheeks turn pink. "Of course, ma'am."

"Same here."

The official nods and checks off something. "Sign here, please."

The rest of the meeting consists of signing various forms and going over the rules of the competition.

"There's a limo waiting outside for you, Lady Ruthie. You will be taken back to Angeles and given accommodations to stay in before your send-off. I'll let you two say your goodbyes. Don't be too long." She leaves swiftly, her heels clicking in a brisk manner.

"Well, I guess this is it?" Ruthie says, smiling. I pull her into a hug.

"It's only going to be two days, and I already miss you," I sigh, but I can't wipe the grin off my face.

"The next time we see each other, we'll be in the same building as Maxon Schreave," Ruthie reminds me. Something flutters in my stomach, and I squeeze her once before letting go.

"See ya soon, Lady Castillo."

"Same to you, Lady Witts." She grabs her bags, and I walk her to the door, wrapping my arms around myself. Someone takes her duffel for her, and the limo door is opened. She turns once to wave at me, and then disappears. I stand there for a moment, watching the road she disappeared down.

Loneliness strikes like an icy blade.

I wander back into the motel, immediately aware of how quiet it is without Ruthie around. I try picking up a book, but my mind won't comprehend the words on the page.

I flick through the channels on the TV, stopping at one that has two hosts discussing the Selected girls. Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees, intrigued. This is a competition, after all. I should get to know the competitors.

"What do you think of Celeste Newsome?" one asks the other. A picture of Celeste pops up on the screen. She's gorgeous, that's for sure. Her brown hair is glossy, and her eyes are striking. She looks like a fierce competitor, but all I can think of is how she went through that transformation during the end of The One, and I make it my mission to bring out that girl earlier in the competition.

"She's definitely going to bring something to the competition. She's signed with Illéa Models, one of the premier labels in the country."

The hosts go on, giving their opinions on the various girls. Suddenly, my picture comes onto the screen.

"Olivia Witts, Zuni. As the dancer and the photographer, she definitely seems to bring an artistic side to the competition, despite being a Three."

It's so weird to hear myself being picked apart by two people I don't even know. And even weirder to hear "Olivia Witts" instead of "Violet Simons". The TV's sound fades away as I realize Olivia's family freaking out. What if they try to expose me?

Fear clenches in my stomach. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm in my car and driving back to Olivia's house. All logic has failed, and the need to know what's happening propels me forward.

I pull up to the house, and Olivia's outside, shouting at a middle aged woman. I slide on a pair of sunglasses, and sink into my seat. I roll down the window the tiniest bit so I can hear what's going on.

"Mom, trust me. There must be two Olivia Witts's in Zuni. It's possible. Just leave it alone!"

Olivia storms into the house, and her mother follows. I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm safe for the time being. But I can't figure out why Olivia is covering for me. Maybe she's embarrassed that she lost a chance at the Selection? I'm not sure. I turn around, and head back to the motel, contemplating Olivia's motives. Finally, I decide to stop thinking about it, and focus on the competition.

My secret's not out.

Yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey there! We'd just like to thank you so much for still keeping up with this, and thank you for the reviews/favorites/follows! This one is a pretty long chapter, but we promise you, it's worth it. Hint: We meet every Selectioner and Maxon *wink wink*. **

**Also, the winner of our contest is SizzleLily98! Her character appears as Violet's maid, and she's pretty sweet :) **

**Hope you enjoy!**

**xoxo, Lily**

**Love ya!- AcademicGirl**

* * *

**Ruthie:**

I look at myself in the mirror, making sure there's not a hair out of place, a hair on my pressed white collared shirt. I'm not used to wearing formal black pants, and I'm not used to not being able to wear sneakers. I guess my life in the next few months are going to be heels and dresses.

Oh, who am I kidding. My life in a few months was supposed to be ridden with algebra II classes and infested with honors American literature. And now I'm here.

And I couldn't be happier.

I slip on the black ballet flats I was given as a part of my new wardrobe, and the Angeles province flower (a rose) into the ponytail band. Then I contemplate whether or not that would look corny, so I take it out carefully and put it around my wrist as a bracelet. There.

"Lady Castillo, it's time," my escort says. She's a tall lady who cares enough to know how to properly pronounce my name (Casteeyo, not Castilo).

I nod, and she leads me from the hotel room to the limousine waiting outside. I'm half-expecting people to be there, looking for me, and half-expecting there to be no one who deems me significant.

The former thought turns out to be correct; some girls approach me to get a picture, and I almost laugh at how they want pictures and not selfies. God, I love this world.

The square is drowned with festive bodies. They linger around corners; some on trees; children on fathers' shoulders. It makes me smile, to know that they're here for me. I'm a bit on the narcissistic side, so I do quite love their being here.

The escort guides me to the stage, and my excitement fades. I'd have to talk. In front of a crowd. I _could _pull an America and not say anything, but I want to leave a lasting impression.

I climb the platform and take a breath, calming myself enough to smile, but not enough to make my fingers stop picking the skin surrounding my nails.

I try to focus on the mayor's words, and I _can _hear him; I'm just not listening.

"Lady Castillo, would you like to say something?"

_He pronounced my name incorrectly. _I step up further, and he passes me a microphone.

"Um," I start, "I would like to say that I could not be more thankful to be...a part of this. I also want to thank the royal family for giving every girl this opportunity. It means so much to know that there will be a chance for each and every one of us to be more than…average. Thank you."

Applause breaks out in the square, and I wave with two fingers raised up, like I'm saluting.

I love how people don't know that Kiera Cass has given us this series as a gift. I do not thank a fictional family, but I simply thank an author who does not know I exist.

I expect the car to drive me to the airport for some odd reason. Instead, it leads me to the palace. The high yellow stucco walls emerge like it's something worth looking at, like it begs attention. I remember being here with Violet a mere two weeks ago.

I miss her. It hits me so suddenly I almost can't breathe. I'm not used to missing people. I'm seeing her, though, in a few minutes, and that quickly assures me.

Oh, my goodness, what if they found out about her?

Fear fills me like water, and I realize I have to take a deep breath just to breathe. The escort beside me starts to fumble with my backpack.

"Lady Castillo, do you require your inhaler?" she asks, already holding the object.

I shake my head, convincing her that I can handle this.

The car goes around the circle driveway, and a guard opens the door. Coincidentally, it's the same one Violet and I ran into. He frowns minutely, and I look away to hide my smirk.

A lady ushers me quickly inside, and I almost can't handle my own excitement.

Another woman holds a clipboard and says, "Lead Lady Castillo to station three please."

Silvia. This is Silvia. I no longer have to imagine a character, for she is standing in front of me.

"Well?" she snaps. "There is no time to dawdle."

I don't have to imagine her sharp voice either.

I am whisked away to a seat, and people flock me like bees. They start with my hair, taking it out of its bun.

"Your hair is beautiful," the lady says, twisting a piece of my black hair around her finger. "Your hair already seems layered. Would you like to maybe add extensions or putting some highlights? We could do so much more if your hair wasn't shoulder-length."

I shake my head vigorously. "No. No, thank you. Maybe just a trim to rid the split ends."

"Alright, then."

The makeup part comes soon, right after they curl my hair, and I'm not used to people fussing over my face. I never wear makeup for multiple reasons. 1) I'm too lazy. 2). I don't enjoy something on my face. 3) I like looking like myself and not an artificial version.

Still, foundation is added, and they apply eyeshadow(the color of my skin, but sparkly; yay sparkles). They swipe some pale red lip gloss and a hint of mascara that frames my too-dark eyes.

I almost don't recognize myself. I look like someone who actually tries with their appearance. I haven't decided if I like it, but I don't quite dislike it either.

After that, they decide they want to make me a naked mole rat. They wax my legs until I feel bare, and thankfully, that's the only thing they touch. Then I guess people just want humans to feel like dessert, so they add vanilla lotion to every inch of skin I'll allow.

Thankfully, they supply me with contact lenses. I'm glad I brought my glasses with me, because I cannot live on contacts alone.

I'm led to a rack of clothes with a sign bearing my name. The maid asks me what I want to wear, and I'm glad I actually have a choice. I pick a light blue dress with black lace straps and a matching belt around the waist. I choose four-inch heels because every single girl in here makes me look like a freaking garden gnome (only with better clothes).

"Lady Castillo, would you like to hide that?" The maid points at the scapular around my neck, and I shake my head politely.

I do take a simple bracelet with turquoise gems on it and a matching set of earrings. I won't refuse that offer.

"Did they dye _your _hair?" says a meek voice. I look to my left, and I feel my eyes widen. I blink quickly to shake off my shock.

Sosie Keeper. Her hair color does look artificial.

Now, where's Violet?

Where's America?

"No, they didn't," I reply, almost forgetting the girl in front of me. I smile quickly and walk past her, wanting to find my best friend, as well as the protagonist of this entire ordeal.

I catch a flash of red, but it disappears before I see the face.

I do an interview shortly thereafter, and I give them the abridged version. The whole country doesn't need to know what I think, so I keep it to myself, only saying that the makeover is beautiful and that the staff did an excellent job.

I'm led to the Women's Room, and other girls are there. I take a spot on the empty couch and wait for Violet. Across the room, I see another girl on the couch. Her blonde hair is beautifully cascading down her shoulders, and she sits up like she was born to be a princess.

Marlee Tames.

And soon, a girl with flaming red hair and minimalist makeup sits down next to her, and her smile is radiant.

America Singer.

Another girl joins me on the couch, and I decide that maybe I want to be nice or something. I smile at her. "Hi, I'm Ruthie."

Wrong person. The girl smiles haughtily. "I'm Celeste Newsome, a model from Clermont."

Ah. I should have known from the pounds of makeup on her face. Celeste is aesthetically pleasing in the way that I am not. She has secretive brown eyes, and her hair is done elaborately, making brown look like such an intriguing shade. Of course, her height is unfairly contrasted from mine, and yet we probably have the same waistline. I should probably cut down on the chocolate, but it's too damn good to give up.

"I'm assuming you're in one of the lower castes," she says with a careless look on her face. "You don't look used to being so...clean."

_Oh, Celeste, you don't have to be this way. _

I know that this is Celeste, but it still stings. "I grew up in a reserved Catholic home," I say nonchalantly, and a confused look passes over her face. "Besides, I'm a student and a musician, so there really is no reason to be so made up all the time."

At musician, I can see America glance over at us, and my heart pounds. I want to talk to her so badly, and my inner fangirl wants to go hug her.

"You're a musician?" she says, her voice like a cool glass of water. Her blue eyes focus on me, and I find myself almost shrinking from her gaze. I almost don't feel worthy. It's not fair how America is so beautiful. It's not fair how fictional characters are beautiful.

I find myself looking for Lyssa Bow, that girl that Maxon thought wasn't too pleasing to the eye.

"Not really," I say. "I just play, but it's not my occupation."

She smiles, and I'm saved from an awkward silence when Violet walks in with a pretty brunette.

* * *

**Violet:**

I bounce up and down on the balls of my feet, feeling like a five-year-old. I smooth down the front of the white button down shirt, glancing down uniform black trousers, which is the uniform for the Selected. Someone dropped off the custom-made pants at the motel yesterday, and I'm ecstatic to have pants that actually fit the length of my legs. I'm wearing nude heels, which add a couple inches to my already above-average height. I'm not that tall that wearing heels makes me, like, an Amazonian woman, but most people don't think that I would ever dare to wear heels. Anyways, I like being tall. It makes me unique, and who doesn't love a great pair of shoes?

Ironically enough, the province flower for Zuni is a violet. I wear the small purple flowers tucked into the French braid I did this morning, placed throughout the entire length of my hair. The look makes me feel ethereal, like a fairy. Well, a really tall fairy. Even though I'm technically not Violet Simons here, I'm thankful that I can still have a little piece of me on my way to the palace.

I can't quite tell whether the adrenaline zipping through my veins is nerves or excitement. Both, maybe. For one thing, no one here even knows who I am. Will anyone bother to show up at the send-off? Picturing how mortifying it would be if no one cared to send me off sets off my nervous tick, and my hands start to shake. I clasp them together to try to still them, but a small tremor persists.

The limo arrives quickly, and I take the essentials from the motel room that I've come to call home here: my thick rimmed glasses and contacts (Ruthie and I both have terrible eyesight), the clothes Ruthie and I bought in Angeles, and everything I had when we first zapped ourselves into Illéa. Luckily, it's only a short ride from the motel to the square. I'm almost sad to leave the little apartment; so many memories have been created there within just two weeks. I can picture the night where Ruthie and I were both announced on The Report perfectly, and just thinking about it fills me with happiness and excitement.

When I arrive, I'm absolutely shocked to see that a crowd has been formed. As the limo pulls up to the stage, I can hear cheering.

I almost can't believe it, but as I step out of the car, my guards surround me as I'm almost immediately swallowed up by the crowd.

_Zuni is definitely an enthusiastic province,_ I think to myself. The sheer amount of people who showed up to see their daughter of Illéa is unbelieveable. The guards push away people asking for autographs, and I roll my eyes. I push past the guards and pose for a couple pictures and sign autographs. I look up, finding the mayor staring down at me. Oops.

I let the guards walk me up the stage, and I take my place beside the mayor. I almost laugh at how insane this whole situation is. The mayor is saying something, but I don't register it. So many people in the crowd are waving, smiling, cheering me on. It touches my heart to know that I have so much support from so many strangers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in sending off Lady Olivia Witts, our Daughter of Illéa!" the mayor calls, and the cheers intensify.

"Would you like to say anything, Lady Witts?" I pause, my throat closing up. I've never been the best at public speaking, but it seems wrong to refuse to say something when I look at the eager faces waiting in the crowd.

"I would just like to thank everyone who showed up here today. The support you've already given me is incredible, and I'm so honored to be part of this competition. I hope that I'll do you all proud."

I smile and the crowd erupts into applause. I giggle, shaking my head. I love Zuni.

After a few more words from the mayor, I'm escorted back to the limo, but before the door closes, I spot a familiar face.

Olivia.

She stands with her arms crossed, not exactly menacingly, but by the look in her eyes it's clear she's observing me. We make eye contact, and my heart pounds against my ribs. I don't have enough time to determine what she's thinking; the car starts moving and the crowd fades out of sight.

For a minute I stare out the window, unable to move or think. Fear paralyzes my body and my mind, and I feel like I'm trapped inside the car, trapped inside these lies.

After a few minutes, I take a deep breath, trying to curb my claustrophobia. _Breathe_, I tell myself. _It's not a big deal. No one is going to find out._

Instead of agonizing over my fake identity, I instead focus on the day to come. I miss Ruthie so much it practically hurts, and I can hardly wait to see her again.

Since Zuni is so close to Angeles, I'm driven to the palace instead of going to the airport. The drive is short, and I toy with the end of my braid impatiently the whole time.

Finally, we reach the tall iron gates of the palace, the yellow stucco walls familiar from the day Ruthie and I first arrived in Illéa. It seems like a lifetime ago, but in reality it's only been two weeks.

The car drives up to the grand entrance of the palace, and I reach to open the door, surprised when it's opened for me instead. I step out onto the pavement, and look into the familiar blue eyes of that same guard from the day of our arrival here. His eyes narrow in confusion and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I wonder if he's seen Ruthie yet, too. The poor guy must be so confused. I give him a cheery wave, and try to hold my composure as I'm whisked inside.

As soon as I walk into the building, stylists and hairdressers descend upon me. I notice that many girls are already here, but I don't see Ruthie. Maybe she's already finished with her makeover? I don't have time to wonder, as people are already pulling at my hair and pulling bags full of makeup.

A man with slicked back hair looks in the mirror from behind me and pulls my locks down around my face.

"Lovely hair," he comments, picking up a strand. "The length is perfect, but we could do a slight face frame to better compliment your jawline. You would keep the length, but the front would be shorter and angled around your face."

_Better compliment my jawline?_ I've never really put much thought to my jaw, but I guess the stylist knows what he's doing. "Sure, why not?"

He claps his hands with excitement and several hairdressers start working on my hair. When it's blown dry, they curl it into loose waves. I tentatively touch a lock, and they must have done something to it to make it soft and shiny. It slips through my fingers like silk.

As I'm waiting for someone to come over to do my makeup, I turn to the girl next to me. She has pretty, light brown hair, and brown eyes. Her face is soft and rounded, and she seems to emit an aura of kindness. I feel like I know who she is, but I can't put the name to the face.

"Hi, I'm… Olivia. Olivia Witts," I say, testing out the new name, and giving the girl a smile. She returns it, and puts out a hand.

"Nice to meet you! I'm Kriss Ambers." My eyes widen, and I try my best to hide the sudden recognition.

"You're from Colombia, right?" She smiles, lighting up her features. It's such a sweet smile that fits the description from the book perfectly.

"Yes! You're from…" she pauses, uncertain.

"Zuni." I finish, and she nods. My makeup artist arrives, and I'm cut off from Kriss. Even though I disliked her in the books, I can't deny that she's a genuinely nice person, and I find myself liking her, however much she got in the middle of Maxerica. Damn it.

The makeup artist starts to put some foundation on my face, and I stop her. "Can you skip the foundation? I'm fine with anything else, I just don't like heavy makeup," I tell her apologetically. It might be weird, but I like the freckles on my face. They may make my skin imperfect, but I hate covering them up like they don't exist.

"Oh," she replies, surprised. "I suppose so."

Thankfully, the makeup artist takes my hint and uses more earthy and natural tones on my face. She uses the slightest bit of bronzer to contour my face, and my eyelids are covered with brown shimmery eyeshadow, which makes my plain brown eyes seem deep and interesting. She lines my lashline with smudgy black eyeliner, and brushes my lashes out with mascara, making my eyes appear bigger. My lips are swiped with a sheer lip balm, and the woman doing my makeup actually accentuates my already full eyebrows to make them look stronger. I look like a more sophisticated Violet, but I'm still Violet. Well, Olivia. But still.

After makeup, I'm sent over to an overflowing rack of dresses, a sign with my name written beautifully in script signaling that they all belong to me. The dresses are absolutely gorgeous, and I'm having trouble choosing just one to wear. Finally, I settle on a lavender colored dress, with a neckline that goes up to just below my collarbones, and flares out at the waist. It has pretty stitching and embroidery on it, in the same color purple. They won't let me keep the nude heels I was wearing, so I simply choose the exact same pair from the closet. Ha.

I'm taken over to another corner of this gigantic room to do my interview. I feel like a show pony, being led about to different places every five minutes.

At this point, I'm dying to see Ruthie. I try not to rush through my interview, sitting up straight and smiling at the camera. I say, truthfully, that I love my makeover, and that the staff was wonderful and skilled. In the back of my mind, I wonder how Ruthie's makeover went. She never wears makeup, and she doesn't need it anyways. She emits such a natural beauty, and I've always admired how she doesn't need to cover herself up to feel beautiful. As soon as I am let go, I want to sprint out of the room to find Ruthie. However, I restrict myself to a brisk walk, because 1) I think I would fall over if I tried to run in heels, and 2) I have yet to see Silvia, but I'm sure she would not approve.

"Olivia!" I hear a voice from behind me. Kriss waves, and I wait for her to catch up.

"Your makeover looks great," I tell her, as we walk out of the room together.

"Thanks! So does yours," she responds, looking around. "But I'm glad that's over. I don't think I could take another second of being poked and prodded by all of those stylists."

I laugh, and we walk through the massive wooden doorway together. My eyes search the room for Ruthie's familiar face, and I almost can't find her because she looks so different.

"Ruthie!"

* * *

**Ruthie:**

Vi approaches me, and I tiptoe even in my heels to give her a loose hug. She smirks almost at my vertical challenge, and I roll my eyes with a one-sided smile.

"Vi, you look beautiful," I say, observing her dress. I don't understand how she manages to look so pretty. It makes no sense how she doesn't even look like she tries.

"Stop it, Ruthie," she says, smiling. "You look beautiful yourself."

"Vi?" the girl behind her says. "I thought you said your name was Olivia."

"It's a nickname," I quickly say. "It's the Vi part in her name that I say. Yup."

Violet seems to find my babbling amusing. She clears her throat and says, "Ruthie, this is _Kriss Ambers._"

Holy shit.

I suppress an excited giggle. "Hey! I'm Ruthie."

Kriss sticks out her hand in a kind way, and I shake it. "Oh, Vi, this is _Celeste Newsome_," I say, gesturing to the model on the couch, who is picking her nails.

"Oh," Violet says, trying to downplay her grin. "Hi, Celeste."

Celeste looks her up and down, scrutinizing her outfit. "Are you from the lower castes too?"

_Bitch. _

Violet shares a knowing glance with me, and I know that it's about the way Celeste is acting.

I look at Kriss and say, "May I steal Vi away for a moment?"

Kriss nods with a soft smile. "Of course." She settles herself next to Celeste, and they don't speak.

I lead Violet to a different lounge and laugh quietly. I point to the girl with red hair, and Violet's eyes widen. "Is _that _America?"

I nod, grinning. "The one and only. I was actually expecting her to be a bit shorter, but nope. Everyone but me is perfectly fine in the height department." I roll my eyes, and Violet laughs.

I vaguely hear her say some witty, sarcastic comment about my five-footedness when Silvia says the news report is about to start. Most girls do fine during their send-off, Marlee included as she beautifully sings the national anthem (damn, she's good). Violet, of course, is perfection, and America...Well, she looked a bit awkward up there. I look at her now, and she's a bit red. Her skin color finally matches her hair when we see the shot of her greeting the people at the airport.

The other girls glare at her, and she averts her eyes. _You jealous, little bitches _I want to say, but I don't.

Instead, I offer a small smile to America when she meets me eyes. She looks surprised, but her lips pull up by a fraction.

When it's done, Silvia gathers us to give us a tour. The palace sounded extravagant enough, but walking in it, through the majestic halls, seeing the elaborate architecture...It's unearthly.

We drop off girls one by one, and I end up being in a room near the stairs. I turn to Violet and hold my pinky and my thumb up, to say _phone. _She nods minutely and gives a little wave before I disappear behind my door.

The room is huge.

What even.

Three girls fuss over the already immaculate suite. (It's not a bedroom; it's a suite. Bedrooms aren't this big.) When they catch sight of me, they drop their cleaning utensils to curtsy, and I frown a bit while smiling.

"Hi," I say. "I'm Ruthie."

"Oh, we know, Lady Ruthie," a tall, willowy girl says.

The other girl nudges her, shooting a slight scowl. "Not the proper response, Cara."

I laugh. "That's fine, that's fine! Okay, um, could you guys tell me your names?"

The girl, Cara, steps forward a bit and says, "I'm Cara." She seems to be the most outgoing, and youngest, of the three.

"I'm Nina," the second girl says, and I know it would be hard to forget her face. She has these pale green eyes that make me wish I could change my irises.

The last girl, who looks a bit reclusive, says timidly, "I'm Jacqueline, but you can just go call me Jackie."

I smile at all of them. "Awesome! Well, it's so nice to meet you. Um…" I trail off, not quite knowing what to say. "So, uh, what do I do next exactly?"

"Oh, we get you dressed, Lady Ruthie," Cara says, rushing to my closet. I follow her, skipping in her wake, and lo and behold, my entire wardrobe is an armoire of amazingness.

Dear God.

"You usually wear formal gowns for dinner," Nina informs.

"We should probably redo your makeup," says Jackie quietly.

I think about Violet, and I say, "Is it alright if I take a quick shower?"

They frown, as if taking a shower is the moral opposite of proper. "A lady never takes _showers,_" Cara says. "I'll set up a hot bath."

"No, no," I say quickly. "It's fine. Showers are fine. Um, please pick a dress for me that is not a garish hue, and, uh, yeah. Shoes would be great too, preferably heels. And underwear. Where do I get underwear?"

"We'll take care of it, Lady Ruthie," says Nina, leading me to the lavish bathroom. She puts a silk bathrobe in my arms and a towel on a hook. "If you need any assistance, we will be outside."

I smile. "Thank you, Nina."

As soon as she closes the door, I fish my phone out of my bra.

Me: Yo

A few seconds later, she replies: Ayy

Me: I have a plan

Violet: Do tell

Me: Meet me at about nine o'clock so we can do Maxerica stalking ;)

Violet: YAS wait where do I meet you?

Me: Um you know that little broom closet by the stairs?

Violet: Maybe?

Me: Actually, meet me at my room. Tell your maid to go get you water and I'll do the same then sneak into my room and we shall witness America meeting Maxon for the first time *_*

Violet: Sounds good

Me: Ayt see you later oh and btw bring your phone so we can take pictures ;)

Violet: Will do!

I put the phone away and take a quick five-minute shower. My maids bring a wonderfully, not garishly colored floor-length dress, and I'm wondering if it'll make me look more like a midget. It's strapless and light blue with gold beading on the bodice. It laces tight in the back like a corset, and the bottom billows around me, covering my high-heeled feet.

I head to dinner with excitement and a hell of a lot of enthusiasm. I am screaming inside.

* * *

**Violet:**

When we enter the dining hall, I stifle a gasp. The elaborate place settings and gorgeous chandeliers are so different from what I'm used to at home, which is my large family crowded around a single table, everyone reaching for different dishes and talking over one another. It's incredible. Everywhere I turn, another corner of the palace is dripping with jewels and wrapped in gold.

The place settings are assigned, and Ruthie and I seated are across the room from each other. I take my seat in between Natalie Luca and Bariel Pratt. Natalie greets me with a friendly smile, but Bariel just looks me up and down and rolls her eyes.

"Hi, I'm Olivia," I say to Natalie, since Bariel is still looking at me I'm a bug and she wants to squish me and flush me down a toilet.

"Hey! Natalie Luca!" Her smile is infectious, and her white teeth stand out against her sunkissed tan skin. Like her skin, Natalie's personality seems to radiate like the sun.

Ruthie and I catch each others' eyes from across the room, and she grimaces at me. She's stuck between Celeste and Tallulah Bell, neither of whom seem to be in the mood to make friends. I make a sympathetic face at her, and she shrugs.

The dinner is delicious, of course. America always joked about staying at the palace for the food, but it really is a valid reason for wanting to live here forever.

Speaking of America, I'm still a little bit starstruck to be sitting about seven table settings down from the fiery headed girl herself. Kiera Cass described America's natural beauty many times in the book, but she really is gorgeous. I can't wait until I get the chance to talk to her.

When everyone's finished eating, we're permitted to go back to our rooms. The Selected walk together in a group, but I grab Ruthie's arm and we hang back a couple steps, letting the horde of chattering girls pass us.

"So the plan is still on, right?" I whisper, practically bouncing on my toes. I swear, even though Ruthie's younger than me, sometimes I act like more of a child than she does.

"Of course it is! My room at nine, don't be late," she replies with a mischievous grin.

"I can't believe we're actually going to see him. Ruthie, in less than an hour, we're going to see _Maxon Schreave!"_ I sigh, clutching her arm.

We come to the top of the stairs, and thankfully our rooms are in the same hallway.

"Tugging my ear in a half an hour," I say, winking comically at Ruthie. She laughs and shakes her head, and we both disappear inside our rooms.

I met my maids right before dinner, and I already adore them. The wardrobe in my room was practically bursting open with dresses, including the one I put on for dinner. It was a simple dark blue floor length gown that was surprisingly comfortable.

"How was dinner, Lady Olivia?" Lily asks sweetly, looking up from dusting a shelf across the bedroom. Her voice was quiet and melodic.

"Amazing," I sigh, pulling off my heels. "The cooks here are so talented."

"They are!" agreed Ella, popping her head out of the bathroom and practically bouncing over to my wardrobe. She was the youngest of my three maids, and so eager to help that the others often had to give her tasks just to keep her busy. "One time, there was leftover cake, and Delilah gave me some to take-"

"Ella!" Susie exclaims, her eyes wide. Ella's face goes pink.

"What's wrong?" I ask awkwardly as the two exchange looks.

"Nothing, it's just that maids usually aren't allowed to take food from the kitchens," Susie explains, eyeing Ella.

"That seems like a ridiculous rule," I cross my arms. "Why shouldn't you be allowed to take leftover food?"

"We are, miss, but not the food the royal family is served."

I scoff at that, feeling anger rise inside of me. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Lady Olivia? Your bath is ready," Lily calls from the bathroom, where she had taken refuge from the tension between Ella and Susie.

"Thank you, Lily," I reply, leaving Ella and Susie in the bedroom, not trusting myself to keep my temper and avoid upsetting them.

After my bath, Susie has laid out a lavender nightgown on the bed, and I quickly put it on, anxious to meet Ruthie. Ella stays in the room with me, and I bid the others goodnight.

I sit down on my bed, and discreetly look at the clock. 8:58 P.M. Time for Ruthie and I to get our stalker on.

"Ella?" I ask. Her head pops up from the book she's been reading in her lap.

"Yes, Lady Olivia?"

"Would you mind getting me a glass of water?" I ask sweetly. She nods vigorously and hops up, brushing her skirt off and already halfway out the door.

"Of course, miss. I'll be right back." She closes the door and I wait until her footsteps fade away.

I slip my feet into the slippers at the end of the bed, and slowly pull the door open a crack. The hallway is completely empty. I open the door a little more, but another down the hall swings open. I quickly pull mine closed, and watch through the crack as Ruthie's maid Nina disappears down the stairs. A couple seconds later, Ruthie peeks her head out the door, and I know it's safe to come out.

"You ready?" I ask, meeting her at her doorway. She rolls her eyes.

"Is that even a question?"

"True. Okay, so the question is, how do we get out into the gardens?"

Ruthie puts a finger to her chin, her eyes looking upwards as she thinks. "Well, we can't really go to the main entrance. America will have already been down there, and there's a good chance Maxon would see us."

"Yeah, but we could easily sneak out after her while the doors are open," I suggest. Ruthie presses her lips together, but eventually nods.

"It's not foolproof, but it's the only thing we've got. And we'd better hurry, I don't think we have a lot of time."

We race down the stairs and toward the main entrance, our footsteps softened by the plush slippers we both wear on our feet. The palace is dimly lit, and most of the light is coming in through the tall windows lining the hallways. Some of the windows are even cracked open, allowing a warm breeze to wander into the palace.

When Ruthie and I reach the main entrance, there are two guards standing by the double sided doors, and each has a staff in their hand. Their eyes stay trained straight forward, and neither moves. I motion to Ruthie, and we hide behind a curtain near the top of the grand staircase.

"She should be coming any second now, right?" I breathe into Ruthie's hair. She jumps.

"Okay, one, don't breathe down my neck please, and two, I think so." We wait, and I'm pretty sure Ruthie's heart is beating as fast as mine is right now. We are moments away from seeing _Maxon Schreave_. I try to take deep breaths, but every cell of my body buzzes with anticipation.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps flying down the opposite side of the staircase, feet slamming into the sleek marble floor. Ruthie turns around to look at me, her eyes wide. _America_.

"Excuse me, miss, but you need to go back to your room," the deep voice of the guard echoes throughout the entrance.

"No… no. I need… outside." America's voice was labored and her words were tight.

"Miss, you need to get back to your room right now."

I push aside part of the curtain and spot America gasping for air as the guards stand her down. I clutch Ruthie's hand. If I'm right, any moment now…

America gasps and collapses into the guards arms, and at the exact same time, someone's shouts ring through the entranceway.

"Let her go!"

My breath catches and Prince Maxon strides into the hallway, demanding the guards to open the door. I can only see the back of his head, but God, the back of his head is good enough for me.

"Oh my God," Ruthie breathes.

"Oh. My. God." I repeat.

We are within twenty five yards of Maxon freaking Schreave.

The guards reluctantly open the doors, and America rushes out into the gardens, her wild red hair trailing behind her. A moment later, Maxon follows.

"Now, Ruthie!" I whisper. The guards are arguing with each other, bickering about who should have done what. We rush down the stairs, and I catch the eyes of one of the guards. It's that _same_ guard again, the one who was there the first time Ruthie and I laid eyes on the palace.

"You?" His eyes widen, and then narrow with suspicion. My gaze drops to the name badge on his uniform. _Officer Neilson._

"Hi! Got to go!" I respond quickly, pulling Ruthie out the door after me.

"Hey!" he shouts, but no sounds of approaching footsteps come after us.

"That guard definitely hates our guts," Ruthie giggles after we've lost sight of the entrance, and I nod in agreement.

"Where do you think they went?" I search the garden, looking for that notorious bench from the books.

"I think they went in this direction," she says, and I follow her down a path that is practically overflowing with flowers and plants. As we approach, the sound of voices softly grows. Ruthie and I creep behind the shrubs lining the path, and as we round a corner, we find a perfect view of Maxon and America.

I suck in a breath, and clutch Ruthie's arm so tightly that I'm probably cutting off her circulation. She doesn't seem to notice.

We're too far away to hear anything they're saying, but I can see the both of them clearly. America is on the ground, looking defiantly up at Maxon. Her cheeks are stained with tears, but her eyes are staring him down stubbornly. Maxon's face is in the shadows, but when he shifts slightly, the light from the castle falls on him perfectly.

I freeze, my jaw dropping open slightly. Of course I knew what he looked like before I came here from watching The Report, but nothing could compare to seeing him in person. He is _gorgeous._

Ruthie snorted. I must have said that last part out loud.

"Shut up," I grumbled, nudging her. "You know it's true."

She nods, trying to wipe the smile off of her face. "Yeah, I know. But the amount of _fangirl_ in your voice..."

I stick my tongue out at her, but continue watching Maxon and America, captivated by the two. Ruthie pulls out her phone and whispers to me. "We need to capture this moment."

"You're unbelievable," I laugh quietly, and Ruthie turns the phone on to take a picture of the two of them.

Time seems to move in slow motion as the flash on her phone goes off, catching Maxon and America's attention.

"_Ruthie!"_ I squeal, pulling her down behind the bushes.

"Is someone there?" Maxon's voice is louder now, and confused. _Shit._

"What do we do?!" Ruthie's voice is a squeak, her eyes wide.

"Run!" I whisper fiercely, and Ruthie and I sprint away, leaving Maxon and America standing by the small stone bench. I turn around, and spy Maxon squinting at us, as if he can't quite make us out. Hopefully we've disappeared into the shadows of the night, and neither of them can tell it's us.

We race into the entrance, and the two guards that were standing there earlier have been replaced. Their faces are puzzled as we dash up the stairs and back to our rooms.

"You didn't turn the flash off?" I gasp, shaking my head as we finally make it back to our hallway.

"I forgot!" Ruthie exclaims, her cheeks flushed.

"I can't believe you," I groan, but as soon as the words leave my lips, I start laughing.

"Do you think they saw us?" Ruthie wheezes while laughing with me. She probably needs her inhaler, and I slow down my pace for her.

"Probably, but I don't think they could tell who it was. Let's just hope they saw a midget and a really tall girl."

"A ninja and a ballerina," Ruthie grins at me.

"Exactly." We've reached Ruthie's room, and I look down at our nightgowns. The lavender silk of mine is smudged with dirt, and Ruthie has leaves stuck to the blue material of hers.

"What I wouldn't give for an oversized t-shirt right now," I say, rolling my eyes. "This nightgown is completely ruined."

"Or some sweatpants," Ruthie adds, picking up the hem of hers and looking down at it disdainfully.

"See you tomorrow morning, Ruth," I say, trying to contain a yawn and failing. "Don't bring your phone this time."

"Rude."

"XOXO," I reply, blowing her a kiss. She rolls her eyes, but relents.

"Love ya!" she whispers as I return to my room.

I remember that back at the motel, Ruthie reminded me that I would have to be waking up early at the palace, and I jokingly replied that it wouldn't be a problem because I would have a prince to wake up for.

As much as I completely hate waking up early, I don't think I'm going to have a problem tomorrow morning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey! We're back after two weeks… The struggles of high school. But, nonetheless, the fangirls have returned! :)**

**QOTD: Let's say you were in the Selection. What would you do for your makeover and what would you wear?**

**Hope you guys enjoy!**

**xoxo, Lily**

**Love ya!- AcademicGirl**

* * *

**Ruthie:**

To wear makeup or to not wear makeup; that is the question.

I mean, I never wear makeup anyway, so I don't see the need to now. But I want to look special for Maxon. I want to look different.

Different is the way to go.

Natural is definitely the correct strategy.

No makeup. Well, just a little.

"Um, is it fine if I don't use mascara or eyeliner?" I ask Nina. "Otherwise, do whatever you want with this." I gesture around my face with a grimace. My morning face is not the best.

Nina laughs, and I like how it's soft and light but not entirely indifferent. She gets to work on this, while Jackie pins up my hair. For such a quiet person, her talent is expressed in volumes (and so is my hair; yay voluminous waves!). She curls my wavy black hair and pins it behind my head with a sapphire barrette.

When Nina and Jackie finish, Cara hands me a dark blue dress with gray silk straps and a same-colored ribbon that circles and embellishes my waist. She ties it loosely behind me, and I'm put into three-inch gray heels. They attach the silver name pin on me, and I smile.

I don't look seductive or sexy, and I never have. When I looked at myself in the mirror before, I would see someone so disgustingly childish. But I feel like now, I've grown to be more comfortable in my own skin, because the only approval I want are from people I love.

So I better look hella beautiful for Maxon.

I just hope he likes me. I'm not hoping for him to fall in love with me, because, clearly, that's impossible. He's Maxon freaking Schreave, who is destined to fall in love with America Singer. Any ending other than the designated one would be highly detrimental.

But Violet and I are just having fun. This...This won't do any bad. Right?

"Do I look okay?" I ask my maids.

They smile with polite nods, and Jackie comes closer to fix my scapular and a pair of small earrings with sapphires set in the middle of gold.

"Lady Ruthie, do you know where to go?" Cara asks.

I smile. "Yes, I do." Of course I do.

I walk quickly to the upstairs foyer where we are to meet Maxon. We will finally get to meet him. Finally.

I remember America's description of everyone else looking so made up, and only then when I see them do I realize that America wasn't being hyperbolic. They have their hair up in intricate braids and hairdo's, and here I am with my hair simply away from my face. Insecurity strikes me in my stomach, and I'm contemplating whether or not to go back and change, but I feel like Violet would assure me that I look fine. So I go with that and walk forward. Two girls enter wearing nearly the exact same dress, and they both turn around.

It usually takes me about thirty minutes to get ready, but other girls are taking forever. I see Kriss walk in, and oh, my gosh, she does look like a princess. There's just a certain way she holds herself. She looks confident without being overly so. She looks dainty without looking fragile.

Then I look at America, who is looking at everyone's dresses than her own. She doesn't look perfect. She doesn't look all glammed up.

God, I love her (hashtag Woman Crush Wednesday).

When we are all ready, we go to the Great Room, and I sit in the middle of the second row. I'm sandwiched in a seat between two girls who don't have any significance to me. I catch the name on her pin before she turns away. Amy Everheart. The girl to my other side is a girl named Jenna Banks.

I look around, trying to find Violet. She's sitting in the very last row, near the end. I wave to her, and she waves back, smiling. I'm upset that she doesn't get to meet Maxon sooner. I don't know why, but I want her to meet him before I do. I feel like she deserves it more. Just because it was one of the only seats left doesn't mean she has to be last. That's not fair. But I guess life just isn't fair. The world is just too horrible to beautiful things.

"Aren't you terrified?" Amy asks, turning to me.

I widen my eyes to emphasize my anxiety. "Oh, my gosh, yes. I'm so worried. Like, what if he doesn't like me?"

"What if he doesn't like any of us?" Amy interjects.

"Oh, he won't like all of us," I blurt.

The girls frown at me, and I cough. "Don't you think he'd, uh, eliminate some girls today?"

"Well, that's not going to be me," Jenna says confidently, tuning into the conversation.

Uh, yes, it will, honey. You're leaving in, like, an hour.

I mentally slap myself for being so rude. I could get kicked out too. I may know Maxon, but I don't know him well enough to say he'll like me.

I'm not worried about Violet. She'll be better fine. I'd actually bet that she'd make it into the Elite. Actually, when I get kicked out today, I'm going to make sure I vote for her.

Then I think of something that will assure my staying here. There is absolutely no way I am leaving today. Why, you might ask?

Because I'm Asian.

Yup.

For an entire week of my eighth grade year, I was practically crying over the fact I was Asian. Okay, more back story. I just got my high school letters back, and to every high school I applied to I got a scholarship. Not being conceited. I got those because I studied hella hard for the High School Placement Test. So scholarships. There was one to this one school that rarely gave scholarships. I felt honored and so thankful. Then I got to thinking, why me? I didn't play any sports. So I eventually reached the conclusion that all they wanted was diversity and so they gave me a scholarship because I was Asian. There.

Which brings me to now. Elise Whisks stayed because she had connections to people in New Asia. I could stay because I'm Asian (well, technically New Asian).

The same feeling fills me as the girls around me talk. It's bittersweet to know that I will stay, but I feel a bit sick to my stomach that people will keep me because of my race. That, when they see me, all they see will be an Asian girl who will be an excellent convenience.

I take a deep breath, and Jenna smirks at me. "You are totally nervous."

It coaxes a laugh out of me, though inside I'm a bit offended. Can't I just breathe because an asthmatic needs air sometimes? "Well, he's the prince. The only celebrity I've met was Robin Williams, and that was when I was five."

Jenna frowns. "Robin Williams? Who's that?"

I guess it's true: There will come a time where our accomplishments are no longer noteworthy, and we our existence not be acknowledge. It upsets me.

I smile simply and play with the fabric of my dress. "An actor from America," I say carelessly. I frown and look up at Jenna's even more perplexed face.

Shit.

"But you said you met him when you were five."

"Did I?" I plaster a smile and force a laugh. "Sorry. I'm, like, super delirious when it's this early in the morning, and I'm extremely nervous. I have no idea what I said."

Jenna smiles, but her suspicious eyes betray the entire front she's trying to show.

The door finally opens, Silvia promptly walks in. She clicks her tongue. "A lady never raises her voice above a gentle whisper."

Who the hell whispers the entire time? And I suppose you're not a lady, Silvia, since you're not whispering. Yeesh. She's more uptight than the average gay guy's pants.

The room quiets and the cameras pan across the room. I wear a small smile so the audience will think I am not ready to hyperventilate.

"Hello again, ladies," she says. "I hope you had a restful first night in the palace, because now our work begins."

Ugh, work. This is supposed to be fun, Silvia, not infested with work. Work is like washing the dishes or homework. Don't call it work. I think I have partial ADHD. I think I'm also partially dyslexic. I remember this one time that I mixed B and C on a math test, and, like, it totally messed with my head so I blinked a few times at the piece of paper—

Dammit. Focus, Ruthie. What the hell is she saying now? Oh, table manners. Use the tongs. Ugh, so many utensils. Why must eating be so complicated here? Can I just meet Maxon now? Please?

God must have heard me, because right at that moment, a knock presents itself on the varnished wooden door, and then Prince Maxon walks in. He's more beautiful in the light, now that I can see him. I thank my maids silently for getting me my contact lenses. America isn't kidding when she says everyone straightens up at his presence. I mean, I'm already sitting straight up anyway because I have major back problems sometimes. I catch Amy flicking her hair over her shoulder, only to bring it in front again, then curling it with her finger. Jenna straightens her mountain of jewelry, and I'm glad my maids put hairspray. My hair always ends up sticking straight up—

Oh. My. God. Maxon freaking Schreave is in your presence, and you can't even keep a straight thought. Well, that actually makes sense.

"Your Majesty," Silvia gushes, curtsying. I love curtsying. I don't even know why. I have to remember to curtsy.

"Hello, Silvia. If you don't mind, I would like to introduce myself to these young women." His voice is like smooth dark chocolate. Damn.

"Of course," she says, repeating her previous motion.

His brown eyes survey the room, and it brushes over me like a quick and passing breath of wind. I am of no significance, and I'm actually thankful. It means he doesn't recognize. When I stand, he'll probably notice me for my height. Well, there's still Tiny Lee so I guess I could always pin the blame on her.

I observe his face closely, and I note the small and adorable smile that graces his face when his eyes land on America.

"Ladies, if you don't mind, one at a time I'll be calling you over to meet with me."

Oh, I don't mind at all. He continues to talk, and I find myself focusing more on the sound of his voice than what he's actually saying. He mentions something about names and quiet giggles fill the room like water trickling down a spout. At that, he goes to the girl on the right end of the first row and brings her to the couches. They talk, they stand, he bows, she curtsies, she leaves. The moment is so fleeting, and I hope my conversation with him doesn't end up being a mere "Hi, how are you?", even though I'm totally imagining something like "I'm so in love with you" from me. I really have to control my tongue.

It happens all over again, and by that time, my palms are sweating buckets. I wipe them against my dress, and I tuck a hair behind my ear. I straighten my back and stretch my shoulder blades toward each other until I hear them crack.

Amy comes back, and I stand, because it is now my turn, and holy shitballs, this is happening, and why am I here? I can almost feel every eye burning into my back as I walk with shaking knees and frantic lip-biting. I vaguely taste the strawberry flavor of the lip gloss. When I finally reach him, I smile out of nervousness more than anything else. Just kidding. I smile because he's Maxon.

"Hello," he says, smiling as he stands and extends his hand. He's talking to me. I hold out my own hand so I can make sure he is real. I'm not quite sure how this greeting goes, so I hold my hand sideways like a handshake. I'll make it firm so I leave a good impression. Instead, Maxon turns my hand so the back is facing straight up and his lips brush it like a cool breeze.

Maxon just kissed me. Well, the back of my hand. But still. I've never been kissed by any guy outside my family. And Maxon Schreave is the first. Damn, God must really love me.

I might have frozen right there, and I feel like his lips stay on mine for more than two seconds. I remember to curtsy, and as I bow my head, I snicker and smile to myself.

"Good morning," I say, practically beaming rainbows because I am so, so happy right now.

Maxon smiles, and it looks slightly forced as he tells me to sit down. It's not a genuine smile, not quite yet. "How are you, Lady…" He squints at my name tag, and I lean forward a bit so he can see it.

"Ruthie," I say.

"Lady Ruthie," he says, smiling again. "How was your first night at the palace? I hope you slept well."

What if this is like the time paradox? He does ask this question in the novel, but what if he asks it now because of Violet and me? The thought terrifies me, but I brush it aside. I'll deal with this later.

"Oh, it took me a rather long time to fall asleep," I say. "I didn't sleep immediately." Because Violet and I were spying on you and America, duh. And, as if he's suspicious, he quirks an eyebrow. "Um, I'm a bit of an insomniac, and I was far too excited to sleep last night. I'm assuming you must have been excited too. Your highness," I add quickly.

A flicker of an intrigued smile passes over his face before it breaks into an actual grin. "Your assumption is accurate," he says, nodding. "Last night certainly was an interesting evening, my dear."

I laugh out loud at the title. Maxon calling me his dear...I almost completely lose it. I have to ran my hand over my lips to hide it. I tap my lips and say, "I would like to second that."

He furrows his brows momentarily, but he covers it with a smile. "Why did you laugh?"

"Oh, nothing," I say quickly. He looks a bit embarrassed, and maybe he thought I was laughing at him. I forgot how insecure and awkward Maxon could get. "It's just...you called me 'my dear,' and I just thought it was a funny title."

"Oh," he says, a bit lost in his thoughts. Then he asks abruptly, "Where are you from?"

"I'm from Angeles." I already ran this through my head a million times last night. "But I moved from New Asia."

Maxon's eyebrows shoot up. "New Asia?" he says. There you go. I will not be remembered for my talents and achievements, but for my race. I really want to change that. "Where in particular?"

I'm not exactly sure if the Philippines still exists, so I say, "A country with several islands in the southeast area. A country so small that if you squeezed all the islands together, you could probably fit it in all of Angeles."

He laughs, a mix of his shy and awkward chuckle and his loud, adorakable guffaw. "Really? Do you speak another language?"

I smile. "Yes. Do you?" I don't even know if Filipino is an actual language still. It might be as dead as Latin.

"I speak a bit of New Asian as well, Lady Ruthie," he says, smiling, almost as if he's happy we have something in common.

"That's awesome," I say, my manners slipping. "Um, I mean, that's amazing, Your Highness."

He smiles, seemingly amused. "What do you like to do for fun?"

"I love to play music," I immediately say. "I just love playing it, and writing it."

"We have a piano in the Women's Room," he comments. "You are free to play it any time you wish, that is, if you play piano."

"Oh, I do," I say. "I play piano. And violin, guitar, vocals...Yeah. So what are your favorite hobbies?" My disgusted self tacks the question at the end of my self-absorbed sentence.

He leans back and runs a hand through his hair. I bite my lip before I can stop myself, and I change it to a smile. "I like to take pictures. When I have the time, of course."

"Photography?" I repeat, as if I didn't know. "I love photography!"

"Really?" He smiles and frowns, basically saying he's not buying it.

"I had this photography competition in the fifth grade, and that's when I started taking an interest in it. It was around the summer before my first year of high school I really started loving it. I just loved manipulating the lighting, saturation, exposure, all that jazz."

"That's brilliant," Maxon says, smiling. I think he thinks he believes me now. He stands, and I'm sad I don't get to talk to him any longer. I stand with him. "Well, there are still other girls remaining, but it was wonderful getting to know you, Lady Ruthie."

"Likewise, Prince Maxon," I say, smiling, not telling him that I am far from being a lady. He kisses my hand again, and I giggle on the way back to my seat.

I look at his face every time someone goes up. Some he smiles genuinely and sometimes it's a facade.

Then Celeste shows up. And, God, this is the time I remember he is still such a man. I remember reading The Prince, and Maxon was all, "Celeste is the sexiest candidate."

I hate him so much, but I love him so much. How oxymoronic.

His eyes rake over her body, and dammit, Maxon, stop. I can't even with you right now. Thankfully, she leaves, with that haughty smirk of hers, and soon enough, Violet is up. She looks fantastic. Her dress fits her the right way, and she doesn't shuffle awkwardly in her heels. Why is she perfect? I don't even know. I don't even want to elaborate because there are not enough words to describe how awesome my best friend is.

Her talk with Maxon goes swimmingly. He's always smiling with her, and it looks pretty genuine to me. I love how he still makes an effort even though this is the thirty-fifth time, though if I were him, I'd keep asking questions. I ask Violet questions all the time anyway.

After a few minutes, they're done, and I catch Violet's eye. I grin and snap my fingers into a thumbs-up, and she laughs silently.

I can already tell we're both staying.

* * *

**Violet:**

I roll over in bed, blinking into the sunlight pouring in from the tall windows across my room. Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, I stretch and lean over to check the time. I rub my eyes again, confused. Does that clock say… 6:30 A.M.? No, it must be wrong. Is it?

Not once in my life have I ever woken up at 6:30 A.M. without needing to, and especially not without an alarm clock.

I thought I was joking when I told Ruthie that getting out of bed wouldn't be a problem at the palace, but I guess Maxon Schreave actually is the best kind of motivation.

I flop back unceremoniously onto the plush pillows, and close my eyes, grateful for the opportunity to relax before my interview. At seven, Lily and Susie join Ella and I in my room, and the morning routine begins. Susie takes over my wild mess of bedhead hair, which quite literally sticks up in all directions, and curls the crazy waves into soft, loose curls that frame my face. Lily does my makeup, and I while I give her artistic freedom, I tell her to keep it natural toned. I'd rather not show up to breakfast with blue eyeshadow and pounds of powder smothering my face. Still, she livens it up a little, and applies shimmery light brown eyeshadow to my lids, along with eyeliner and mascara. I stay away from the foundation, and grin at my reflection. My freckles stand out from my fair skin, and today, and the light catching in my shimmery eyeshadow makes my brown eyes seem interesting instead of boring.

Ella pokes around in my closet, and hands me a dress to try on. It's a deep forest green, which is actually one of my favorite colors. It's not a very common favorite of many people, but it reminds me of long walks through the woods and the peace and quiet of nature. Back home, whenever I was stressed about school or in tears due to some boy, I would take a walk to clear my head. I also loved wandering in forests with my friends on photoshoots, and the nature inspired me. I guess my habits, without my knowing, made me love the color. I try it on, and to my surprise it fits perfectly. It has cap sleeves, and the top hugs my torso. The top ends right before my waist, and turns into a skirt made of loose, swingy material. Lily digs up a thin gold headband, designed to look like a crown of leaves. I wear a simple gold necklace and earrings, and I leave my room, nervous but ready.

On my walk into the foyer, I spend a little too much time admiring the magnificent paintings decorating the long hallways throughout the palace. I've always loved art, even though I can't draw a straight line for my life, unlike Ruthie, who claims she can't draw but is secretly fantastic. The painting has an impressive collection of pieces I don't recognize, and I'm sure the artists are people I've never heard of. I distantly wonder if some of the modern painters back home will end up becoming famous, and that maybe one of their paintings is on these walls. As more girls pass me, I decide that I should probably head over with them, and that there will be more time to ogle over art later… assuming Maxon chooses to let me stay. By the time I make it into the foyer, there are hardly any seats left. I end up in the very last seat in the back row, which means I'll be the last to meet Maxon. I probably should be upset, or at least be worried. Maxon will have already met every other girl in the room, he could be bored by the time he finally gets to me. He might have already made up his mind about who he wants to keep here, and who's going home. However, I refuse to believe that I'll go home in this first round. I don't know how Ruthie and I ended up here, but we did, and there must be some sort of reason behind that.

Speaking of Ruthie, I notice her sitting one row ahead of me. She turns around and gives me a little wave. I smile back. I'm glad that she gets to go first, because she's constantly trying to put other people before herself. I've always admired her generosity, but sometimes, it's necessary to put yourself first, and to let yourself happy.

"What do you think he'll be like?" Laila Toil, a Four, asks me quietly from a seat over. She keeps her hands folded tightly in her lap, and her knuckles are white as she clenches them together.

"Who cares?" Clarissa Kelley, a Two, replies, leaning over and flicking her long, glossy hair over one shoulder. "I just hope he's as attractive in person as he is on the Report."

I roll my eyes and fight the urge to snap at Clarissa, but I can't help myself. "That's really all you care about? How attractive he is?"

"Well that, and he's also the Prince. What more can you ask for?" she sniffs, her expression pinched, as if she can't possibly understand what I'm talking about.

I don't know. Personality? Kindness? A sense of humor? Love?! I think to myself. Outwardly, however, I shrug in response to Clarissa's question, not trusting myself to refrain from lashing out at her. I'm usually a pretty friendly and neutral person, but one thing I can't deal with is mean girls, and Clarissa is one of them.

I bite my tongue and face forward again, blocking my view of Clarissa, who just continues talking to some girl on her left about her family's lodge in Swendway. Loudly.

"Are you nervous?" Laila inquires in that quiet, reserved tone of hers. It's almost as if she's trying to put on a regal air, but it's just coming across as kind of stiff. Either way, her nervousness is given away as her fingers flit about in her lap, twisting in the fabric of her dress anxiously.

"A little," I say, tilting my head to the side. "I just hope that… everything goes as I imagined it would, you know?" 

I feel a little embarrassed after saying that, because I have imagined this moment ever since reading The Selection. But Laila just smiles softly, nodding. "Yeah. We didn't watch much television back at the farm, but I've always dreamt about being here, at the palace. It doesn't seem real, yet."

I sympathize for her. Laila's pretty, with curly blonde hair and tan, freckled skin from being out in the sun so much. I don't remember ever reading her name in the book, so I can pretty much assume that she won't make it into the next round. Still, she seems so nice, and I try to help her calm her nerves.

"Just be yourself. Be relaxed, and try to make the Prince feel relaxed, too. I'm sure he's just as nervous as we are," I say, smirking. She laughs.

"I don't know. He is the Prince." 

"Yeah, but he's also a guy surrounded by thirty five strange women. If I were I him, I'd be more scared of us than of a rebel attack."

Laila giggles, and her shoulders lose the tension that was there just a moment ago. I smile to myself. My friends often joke that I'm like a guidance counselor, always trying to solve everyone's problems. It's easier for me to help people sort through their issues than dealing with my own, and usually by helping someone else, it makes me feel better about my own problems. But sometimes, not everyone wants to be fixed. I focus so much on being a people-pleaser, that sometimes I can't really tell if I'm fixing things, or just making them worse. Right now, however, Laila seems to be in a much brighter mood, and it lifts my spirits as well.

"Tsk-tsk. A lady never raises her voice above a gentle whisper," Silvia reminds us as she enters the room, and a hush falls over the girls. A gentle whisper? I'm sorry, but who only speaks in whispers?

"Hello again, ladies. I hope you all had a restful first night at the palace, because now our work begins. Today I will begin to instruct you on conduct and protocol, a process that will continue for the duration of your stay. Please know that I will be reporting any missteps on your part to the royal family."

Cameras sweep the room, and I try to sit up straighter. I didn't realize just how much of the Selection is actually publicized. The Report, obviously, I knew about, but this seems a little intrusive to me. I guess it's just all part of the whole production. It strikes me that this is probably some sort of reality TV show for the audience.

Oh, yeah. The Bachelor. Right.

As I'm pondering all of this, Silvia continues with her lecture. She drones on about table manners, and I can't help but feel like I'm in school. Absentmindedly, I wonder if time is functioning normally back at home. It's the middle of summer, but I'm starting my senior year of high school this fall. If I end up staying here, will I be missing it? More importantly, is my family wondering where I am, and are they worrying that I'm missing? I push it to the back of my mind. Those are questions for another time, not when Silvia is explaining the importance of different glasses for different beverages. Yawn.

Suddenly, a knock on the door jars me out of my daze, and two guards stepped away, letting Prince Maxon to walk into the room.

"Good morning, ladies," he calls, and the room springs into motion as girls begin to fix their hair and adjust their dresses just so, while leaning forward and sucking in. Necklaces and earrings are checked, and I sit there, watching the whole scene unfold and trying not to laugh.

"Your Majesty," Silvia chirps, slipping into a low curtsy.

"Hello, Silvia. If you don't mind, I would like to introduce myself to these young women."

"Of course," she replies, bowing again.

Maxon's eyes swept across the room, and I can't help myself from holding in my breath. I'm still struck by the fact that Maxon freaking Schreave is standing right in front of me. He's just as attractive as I pictured him in the book, if not more. The golden colored hair, the warm chocolate eyes… It's all I can do to refrain myself from swooning. I watch as his eyes pass over us, and I let out a small breath when they catch mine for the tiniest fraction of a millisecond and continue on. Eye contact. I just made eye contact with Maxon. Holy shit.

"Ladies, if you don't mind, one at a time I'll be calling you over to meet with me. I'm sure you're all eager to eat, as am I." That reminds me of last night's dinner, and I'm already salivating at the mention of breakfast. I can't wait to try those infamous strawberry tarts.

Maxon says something about being slow with names, and the room echoes with nervous giggles.

"Are you alright?" Laila whispers to me, nodding to my lap. My hands have started their anxious trembling. Damn it. I thought I wouldn't be so nervous about this, but I guess actually seeing Maxon in person made everything a little more real. I can't get out in this first round, and neither can Ruthie; we can't risk anyone finding out our true identities. Not to mention that we don't have a clue how to return to our home and time.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Nervous habit," I explain, trying to give her a smile. She reaches over and squeezes my hand, offering a sweet smile. The gesture is so kind, and makes me really hope she doesn't go home yet.

"Thanks," I say as my hands slow their shaking, and she lets go. I watch as Maxon walks over to the girl in the front row on the far right and escorts her to the couches. They speak, formally, and after only a short time he stands up and bows to her, while she curtsies back. The whole process is alarmingly fleeting, and I hope that I get the chance to actually talk to him, unlike that first girl.

It happens over and over again, and with every conversation that I watch I slowly get calmer. When it's Ruthie's turn, I grin widely. I don't worry about her making it to the next round, but I still hope that it goes well for her anyways. She always looks pretty, even when she's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with no makeup, which is completely and totally not fair at all. So when she gets dressed up, she looks gorgeous, and especially in the blue dress she's chosen to wear today. I've always thought that blue was her color. With her dark hair and dark eyes, she looks mysterious yet not reclusive, interesting and in a good way. I also notice her Maxon kisses her hand, and she looks absolutely giddy. I'm so happy for her that it's almost as if I were meeting him myself. They talk for a couple minutes, and Maxon's face is intrigued, and at some points he even laughs. In one look, I can tell he's keeping her for the next round.

Go Ruthie! I telepathically cheer her on, even though I know she can't hear me. Killin' it.

I wait for everyone else to go, and I notice a girl with bright blonde hair who wears a positively beaming smile as she returns to her seat. Marlee. I make a mental note to introduce myself after breakfast; Marlee was always one of my favorite characters.

America's turn occurs sometime after, and for some reason I still can't fit my head around the fact that America Singer is real. Or the fact that her hair really is that fiery and gorgeous. I see Maxon chuckle, his eyes crinkling around the edges in amusement at something she says. I can then tell when he panics a little as America's eyes get shiny with tears. He says something that makes her laugh, and my heart fills with happiness watching Maxerica grow, right from the beginning. I laugh a little myself; they have no idea what they're in for.

Laila does her interview right before me, and I see Maxon smiling at the pretty blush that graces her face. I wish I had the chance to get to know her, but I know from the facts of the book that she won't make it to the next round. Finally, once Laila returns and every girl but me has had the chance to meet Maxon, I make my way to the front of the room. My heart flutters in my chest, and suddenly I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. I'm about to have a face to face conversation with my favorite fictional boy of all time, who isn't so fictional anymore.

"Hello," he says, and I almost can't breathe because his smile is so adorable. He extends his hand, and I place mine in his, knowing how this works from watching thirty four other girls do the same before me. Oh, the advantages of being last. His lips brush the back of my hand, and I'm astonished at how innocent the gesture is. It's only a kiss on the back of my hand and yet… it feels more meaningful than the actual kisses I've shared.

How is that even possible?

"Good morning," I say, and thankfully, my voice doesn't come out as an overwhelmed squeak. "How are you?"

"Very well, thank you Lady…" he searches for my nametag.

"Vi-" I cut myself off, realizing my mistake. The amount of times I've almost accidentally ruined my whole stolen-identity thing is getting too high. Maxon looks at me and waits, a confused expression on his face. Damnitdamnitdamnit.

"Um, Olivia. But some people call me Vi. It's a nickname. You know,the V-I in Olivia. It's kind of weird, I know," I explain, giving him an apologetic smile, and hoping he buys my babbling. He looks somewhat amused, but I think I've mostly just bewildered him. Fantastic.

"Interesting. How was your first night at the palace, Lady Olivia?"

"Quite... exciting," I reply, holding in a laugh and hoping he doesn't notice. Yeah, last night was certainly exciting. "And then a little bit nerve-wracking. It's already been a rollercoaster, and I've only been here a day."

He looks at me, as if trying to figure out a puzzle. It makes me a little bit uncomfortable, actually. I clear my throat, and he snaps out of it.

"So," I say, raising an eyebrow. In the middle of his confusing and awkward staring, I had decided that it would be better to ask what I actually want to know than to carry this boring, overly polite conversation. "Thirty fifth girl. Are you completely bored of this yet?"

He looks at me at first with shock and surprise, and then breaks into a laugh, a strange combination of a chuckle and a snort. America really wasn't joking about his dorky laugh, although it's more endearing than painful. "Excuse me?"

I feel my color rise to my cheeks, hoping I haven't made a drastically wrong move. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that offensively. It's just that… Well, I'm the last girl to go. If I were you, I'd be pretty done by now, and more than ready to eat breakfast, which I hear is delicious."

He grins, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "It's alright, I just wasn't expecting that. However, I assure you, I am definitely not bored." 

I breathe out a small sigh of relief. "Well, I'm glad to hear it."

We sit in a slightly awkward silence, neither of us really sure of what to say. "So, Lady Olivia, what do you like to do in your free time?" And just like that, I feel like this has shifted into some sort of platonic interview, and that my previous, apparent hilarity has vanished.

"I love dance." The words slip out of my mouth before I even realize I'm going to say them. "I've done ballet since I was two years old, but I also really like contemporary, jazz, musical theatre… any kind of dance, really."

"You'll be rather well prepared if we have any balls coming up then." He smiles. Even though I'm not sure of how this little meeting is going, he seems to be doing a lot of that, and I can only hope it's genuine.

"I suppose so," I agree, and my mind drifts off as I find myself dreaming about what it would be like to dance with Maxon. I bet it would be just that: dreamy. "Anyways, I guess you could say that I'm just really into the arts. I also love writing and photography. And music, although I'm terrible at playing it." 

"Photography?" he says, his eyes lighting up a little. Oh yes, I could talk about photography all day. Actually, I could probably talk about photography for weeks and months and years.

"Yeah, I take pictures of whatever I can, whenever I can. It makes me pay more attention to what's around me, and what's really important to me… It's why I love traveling so much. I really like taking pictures of people, and this past year I was accepted into an international photography program, actually." I trail off, realizing I've probably spent far too much time talking about myself.

Maxon looks impressed, which makes me feel like jumping up and down. "I really enjoy photography, as well."

Oh, really? I had no idea! Just kidding. Of course I knew. What devoted Selection fangirl doesn't?

"I actually wish I had my camera with me here… the palace is so beautiful, and it's just a perfect location for taking photos," I sigh wistfully. My beloved cameras, one digital and one film, sit back at home, unreachable.

"If you'd like, I could certainly find one for you," he offers. "I have many lying around, unused." 

"Oh, no, I couldn't-" I start.

"It's no trouble. Maybe sometime soon I could show you the best places to shoot." His eyes are eager, and I feel so overwhelmed and surprised by this sudden advancement that I'm surprised I'm able to speak.

"That would be lovely. Thank you, Prince Maxon." I say, trying to convey my gratitude. I had been missing my camera like it was an extension of my own body.

"It's been a pleasure, Lady Olivia." He stands and bows, and I try not to skip back to my seat. Ruthie shoots me a little thumbs up and I laugh quietly, feeling happy and confident because I have high hopes that Ruthie and I will both make it into the next round.

"If I have asked you to remain behind, please stay in your seats. If not, please proceed with Silvia here into the dining hall. I will join you shortly."

I turn over my shoulder to look at the girls who we leave behind. I don't recognize many of them, but as I count… there are only seven girls. Weren't there originally eight eliminated?

I count again… there are definitely only seven girls left. Maybe I'd made a mistake when reading the book? Or maybe someone's missing.

"Olivia!" Laila catches up to me and then matches my pace. "Aren't you so happy! We both made it!"

We both made it…

That means Laila, who was originally supposed to be eliminated, wasn't.

My mind races, and I feel shock and realization sink into my stomach. If I somehow gave Laila good advice on how to show the prince her true self, and she did something differently in her interview because of me, then that means…

That means that Ruthie and I were wrong.

****It means that we're capable of changing the story.


End file.
